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I did have several reusable bags, though, so I grabbed those, stuffing in more panties and bras, my stuff from the shower, and anything I might want to use beauty-wise.
“Anything else?” Junior asked as he slung my duffle bag over his shoulder, and reached for the other bags, leaving nothing for me to carry.
“Ah… I guess I’ll bring a few books,” I said as we walked into the living room. I grabbed them off their spot on my coffee table, and shoved them into a different bag.
“What about your gaming shit?” he asked, waving toward the TV. “You promised Barry,” he added. “And if you renege on it, his ass is gonna be at my door again.”
“Oh, okay, sure,” I agreed, rushing over to unplug things and shove the console, controllers, and headphones into my bag. Then my laptop for good measure. “What?” I asked as I found him eyeing the laptop.
“Nothing. Alright. We good?” he asked.
“Yeah. I think I grabbed ninety percent of everything I own,” I added, smirking.
“Good,” he said, and I didn’t know if he meant that it was good that I was done, or that I was bringing all my shit to his place.
I went ahead and made myself believe it was the former. Because I wanted it to be the latter too much.
“Let’s go. Same way out as in,” he said, waiting for me to position myself the same way, then moving out into the hallway, the elevator, then outside.
There was a tension about Junior as we made our way across the open parking lot, and I don’t think it was until then that I realized how nervous he was about the threat of the cartel.
“Get in,” he demanded as he yanked open my door.
I didn’t waste any time.
I got in and he quickly tossed my stuff into the backseat before climbing in beside me.
“Hey, Junior?” I asked as he started driving, going way out of town like he had the last time, wanting to make sure we weren’t being followed.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you have to worry about your plates?” I asked. “Like, being traced home.”
“It’s cute you think these are my real plates,” he said, shooting me a smirk. “I was out of town on a job. Had fake plates on for that. Never got a chance to change them. They can’t trace me anywhere through them. The car they belong to is in a junkyard somewhere.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Doll, I know what I’m doing here,” he said, reaching over to grab my thigh. A little higher than was appropriate. “You don’t gotta be so tensed up.”
“I trust you,” I assured him. “But you were the tense one back there.”
“The logistics of your apartment building suck. Lots of other high buildings around. I’m not saying I believe the crew who is fucking with you are any world-class snipers or shit like that. But I don’t want to take chances either.”
“What about your apartment?” I asked. “Is it safe?”
“You think I don’t got a killer fucking security system?” he asked. “And that the cement walls were just an aesthetic choice?”
“Oh, I didn’t… think about that.”
“Cement, brick, and cinder block walls can stop most caliber bullets. They’re not foolproof, but it’s not like I’m ever expecting to be chased with military-grade machinery.”
“The windows…” I said.
“Didn’t look thicker than they should be for ancient, single-pane glass?” he asked, shooting me a look that said they were definitely not normal windows.
“I didn’t notice.”
“There’s a polycarbonate layer. Again, not foolproof, but it will prevent most bullets without fucking with my view. And in the off chance that anyone ever got in, I got what I need to protect myself.”
