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“I know Erik through Didier.”
Lottie sat back, watching as he polished off the cake. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you boys were drug dealers.”
He choked on his last bite. When he could finally breathe again, he said, “Sorry?”
“Please. I watch Netflix. All the signs are there.”
“What signs?” he croaked.
“One”—she lifted her hand and began counting on her fingers—“you boys dressverynicely, and your clothes are new. Two, you’reveryhandsome and young and in serious shape. Three, of all the places to visit, you come to this neighborhood, that has its fair share of drug dealers. Four, your watches—”
“Our watches?” he interrupted, unable to help himself. “What about our watches?”
“They’re expensive.Veryexpensive.” She crossed her arms. “I dare you to deny that.”
“I’m not even wearing a watch.” He held up his wrist.
“You wore one yesterday. I notice these things because my husband used to say that you could tell the quality of a man by what he puts on his feet and his worth by what he wears on his wrist. Didier wore one too, and I asked to see it. I didn’t know the brand, but I looked it up on the Google when I got back home. I thought my cataracts had flared up when I saw the price.” She put a hand to her chest. “Good golly. Only politicians and drug dealers spend that much money on watches.”
His mouth quirked of its own accord. “And of the two, you decided we were drug dealers?”
“There’s no other explanation for why three such disparate boys from Europe would end up on the fringes of Hyde Park,” Lottie concluded. “The neighborhood has had drug issues for a while now, and it’s not getting better despite the new businesses moving in. And I’ve seen the way you run.”
He shook his head, confused. “A lot of people run along the lake.”
“Yes, but they don’t look like the three of you. You’re in incredible shape. Chris is hunky, but you three have finely honed bodies. And you run all the time.” She gestured to his body. “You’re probably keeping in shape so you can get away from cops on foot after you ditch your car.”
“We don’t have a car here.”
“Exactly.” She pointed at him. “You’re here in Hyde Park without a car. A person doesn’t just vacation in Chicago’s South Side. Plus, Didier said he grew up in Marseille, and everyone knows that’s a trans-shipment point for all sort of nefarious things in Europe.”
“Really.” He leaned back against the chair, unsure whether to be offended or laugh. “And despite your misgivings about my profession, you let me into your house?”
She leaned forward. “I have a gun in the drawer over there with the kitchen towels.”
He shook his head at the spark of humor in her gaze. “Do I really look like I use drugs?”
“Dealers never use their own product,” she said knowledgably.
Crossing his arms, he said, “Do you want to know what we really do?”
“I don’t know. I’m having a lot of fun imagining you’re drug dealers.” She winked at him.
“We play football.”
“Now I know you’re pulling my leg.” She adopted his stance, her arms folded across her chest. “Football players are bulky with muscles and have no necks.”
“I play real football,” he explained mostly patiently. “Soccer.”
“Soccer? You can’t make money playing soccer.”
“Trust me, you can. I don’t know that it’s more than drug dealers, but it’s at least as much as politicians make,” he deadpanned.
She went to the counter and then returned to her seat with her mobile. “What’s your full name?”
“Jamie MacNiven.”
She tapped onto the screen with amazing speed. He watched her eyes skim over whatever she found before she looked back up at him. “You’re famous.”
