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“Blind, remember?”
“Smartass.” Footfalls approached from behind him. “Get out of here. Keep your nose clean.”
He didn’t sayor you’ll hear from me, but I knew it lingered. I was okay with that, though. Because that meant he would do his part.
And that meant I might have that shot with Lizzie after all. Unless douchebag prep-boy had already gotten his hands on her.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Lizzie
Chairsskiddingacrossthetile floor in the coffee shop had me looking up from my psych book. This chapter was kicking my butt so I was happy for a distraction.
Damon stood, holding the back of a chair at one of the tables, his eyes shut. Killer next to him.
“Chair,” Damon said. His jaw was tight, and his eyes still shut.
I bolted up and wove between the six tables separating me from him. The tables were full, but nobody was moving to help him. “Damon?”
He squinted in my direction, and my stomach lurched. I recognized that look. He was having a headache.
“Whoa. I got you.” I grabbed his hand. “Headache.”
“That obvious?” He rasped. “Need to sit.” He pulled out a chair.
“He okay?” the guy sitting at the table Damon was about to sit at asked.
“Yeah. We’re good.” I led Damon away. “Follow me. My table’s five over. What do I say to Killer?”
“Take the harness. Say forward.” I did, and with Damon clinging to my elbow and me holding Killer, the dog moved forward, weaving expertly around the chairs and table.
“I’m off to the right,” I said.
“Tell him.”
“Right, Killer.” Damn if that dog didn’t take the next right. “Stop.”
“Heel, Killer,” Damon said.
I guided Damon to the seat across from mine and knelt before him. “What do I do?”
“He’s fine. He won’t leave me. Good boy, Killer. Lie down.” Damon clutched his head with one hand. “Shit.”
“What do you need, Damon?”
“Besides a new head?” He grimaced. “Bag. Outside pocket. Shot.”
“You’re taking shots?” I reached for his bag.
“Nonnarcotic.” He bit through a clamped jaw. “They aren’t as bad anymore. Just really annoying.”
“You guys good?” a guy asked from behind me.
“Yeah, thanks, Frank,” Damon said. “Damn head is splitting open.”
“Double expresso coming up, then.”
“First name basis with the barista. Nice,” I said, placing the needle in his hand.
