Page 659 of Deep Pockets


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Will is walking into the Bailargo building.

Given that there are no other businesses in this building, this can mean only one thing:

I must enter the witness protection program.

Will just went into Bailargo! I text Perky.

Her instant reply: Don’t call him Will, Mal. His name is David. Do you shout out the wrong name when you come during sex, too? Geez.

I do not! I reply, incensed. And Will really did just walk in!

Didn’t you decapitate him earlier? How is he walking? That sounds unnatural. Maybe he’s a zombie.

I gave him a small scalp wound, I correct her. Barely a scratch.

You’re lucky he didn’t have you arrested for assault. That’s twice he’s saved you from your emerging criminal tendencies.

Focus. Focus on the now, Perky. What am I going to do? Will is in the same building where I’m having a first date with Dance Guy.

What if Will IS Dance Guy????? Perky texts back. I can feel her hot breath and shaky jadedness through the phone.

Before I can answer, I get a notification on the dating app. I open it.

Ready to have some fun? David asks in the message section.

Sure am! I type back. Where are you?

Already inside, waiting for you. :)

Damn it.

K. Be there in a minute, I reply, sliding my phone away before realizing I’ve left Perk hanging.

David texted me. He’s inside already. This is crazy, I tell her.

She texts back a popcorn-munching emoji.

So much for friends.

The rearview mirror reflects a vision of my better self. Auburn hair in waves that are so close to curls, the humidity doing its thing. My makeup is crisp, eyeliner perfect, eyes no longer red from doing that eyelid-flip trick Perky swears by. With my pulse tap dancing in my veins, I climb out of the car.

I’m not sure whether I’m more nervous about meeting David or running into Will.

No. Actually, I am sure.

It’s Will.

The studio smells like linseed oil and geranium, a weird combination that works surprisingly well. Gleaming, polished wood floors go on for what seem like miles, rolling on and on until I start to wonder if my depth perception has been altered by panic.

“Mallory?” Will’s over to the left, next to a water fountain, wearing a navy blue polo shirt, jeans, and a confused smile. My eyes dart to the spot where I hit him.

No bandage.

No blood on his collar, either.

“Will!” I feign surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask the same question.”

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