Page 129 of Blood Money


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Tara grins, putting an elbow on the table, and propping her cheek up with an open palm. She’s dressed a little cheerier than usual—her hair’s up in a ponytail, and her jumpsuit is the color of ripened cherries.

“I had to finish reading those chapters or I wouldn’t have peace,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I’m in the third act. You know how the story gets when you hit there.”

I snort. “Yes, everything comes together just to fucking fall apart again.”

She nods fiercely, clenching her palm in the air and squeezing her eyes shut. “Like I know it’s going to happen but it fucking gets me every time!” Laughter erupts between us. “At this point it’s like Stockholm Syndrome.”

I hold the edge of the table to steady myself.

“I’m here now,” Tara says. “Everything good?”

I look at her for a long second, then nod. “Yes, of course. Well, I’m still feeling a little under the weather, but other than that, yes.”

Tara nods, leaning over to put a hand on my forehead. “You’re a little warm, but I think you should be fine. Order some soup.”

I nod, looking down at the menu. Nya should get here soon, then we can put in our orders. When I raise my head, I notice Tara has been staring at me expectantly the entire time.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Like?”

Her lips twist into a smile. “Your neck is full of love bites girl, so I don’t know why you’re acting so clueless.” She grabs my chin, twisting my head. “Things are back on, or are you just having hate sex now?”

A blush heats my cheeks. I look around the restaurant bashfully, hoping nobody else is paying attention to our conversation.

“It’s so much to talk about,” I say with a shrug. “Yes, we’re a thing again.”

Tara’s got a slight smile on her face. She looks…happy for me? It’s lightyears away from what I would expect of her, considering how upset she was about how Alexander treated me. There’s also a mischievous glimmer in her eye, the kind I’ve seen before. It’s almost as if—

“You helped him,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “You’re his fucking source!”

She roars with laughter, covering her mouth. My jaw slackens. Conflicting emotions swirl within me. On one hand, I’m grateful she cared enough to help. But I’m also a little miffed that she kept it from me, considering it was so important.

I narrow my eyes at her, my lips set in a slight frown. “You conspired with Alexander?”

“Not the right word at all.” She shakes her head, holding up a finger to me. “The first time he asked for my help I punched him in the face. The second time around he practically begged me.” She folds her arms, leaning back in the chair. “In the end, I only went digging for him because we struck a deal.”

This sounds more like the Tara I know.

“What kind of deal?” I quirk an eyebrow.

She leans in conspiratorially. “He’s getting me dirt on Erik.”

“Dirt?” My jaw drops.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story of why he broke up with me than what he’s telling me,” Tara says. “I still see the longing in his eyes, Al. He still fucking loves me. And, at the risk of sounding delusional, I won’t rest until I know exactly what it is.” Then she adds, “He was the one who helped me get the video. Whenever I talk to him, it feels like we’re still best friends. He’ll give me anything I want, just not the thing I want the most.”

Nya walks through the sliding glass doors of the restaurant while I’m figuring out how to respond to Tara. “You don’t sound delusional. I hope that Alexander can help you.” I mean it. Tara deserves closure at least. “Let me know how it works out, okay?”

She nods.

Nya joins our table, and Tara beckons the waiter over. We share hugs and light conversation until he comes over to take our orders. I go for the soup du jour—a tomato bisque—while Tara decides on a sandwich. Nya had a smoothie before walking over, so she only gets sparkling water.

“What are you lovelies doing over the break?” Nya asks.

I look down at my nails, buffing away a nonexistent scuff with a napkin.

“I’m probably going to suffer through another holiday trip with my family,” Tara says, kneading her forehead. “I have no idea why my father thinks taking us out on a yacht and forcing my sister and I to share a cabin will fix anything.”

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