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I spent a lot of nights on my bike, a messenger back draped around my body and my heart pumping with anxiety, always scared that I might get stopped by the police and end up in jail for possession.
“You’re a white girl, no one will ever check on you,” they used to say, and they were right. All I had to do was make sure that I wasn’t doing anything conspicuous in traffic to draw attention to myself.
The diner was on my way between two delivery points, and I stopped here almost every night when I was out driving. It was a promiseoffree food and a friendly face, because my foster brother and his friends used to hang out here. He never let me pay for anything, even when I insisted. He was looking out for me even then, despite everything.
“Are you still in contact?” Logan wants to know, as he reaches for his Augustiner. He hasn’t said a word about the beer, yet, but it’s obvious that he likes it, given that his bottle is almost empty already.
“No, sadly not,” I admit. “We kinda lost contact a few years back.”
“How come?”he probes.
I look out the window, as a wave of guilt and regret washes over me. I can’t tell him the truth. He can’t know that I had to cut contact with everyone from back then, even the guy who was the closest to a brother I ever had.I’d finally found the courage to break up with my toxic ex-boyfriend and break free of his shady environment, and when I met Patrick, I was determined to leave my old life behind. All of it.
“It was my fault,” I say vaguely. “I just stopped coming by at some point, and it just fizzled out.”
Logan regards me with a skeptical look. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me.”
I can’t suppress a sigh of exhaustion.
“Why do you always do that?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Read more into the things I tell you,” I say.
“I’d say it’s more about the things youdon’ttell me,” he argues. “Which appears to be a lot.”
“I thought you already knew everything you neededto know?” I implore. “Didn’t you say that Miss Barry gave you my file? I thought you’d already read everything there is to know about me?”
He looks insulted when he shakes his head.
“That’s not the case. Besides, I’d rather hear it from you,” he answers. “How did you end up at The Velvet Rooms?”
“I told you, I needed money,” I reply. “And that job seemed like the perfect opportunity to earn a lot within a short time.”
I pause, adding a conceding sigh. “It’s not like someone as uneducated as me would have many options to crawl their way out of debt.”
“What debt?”he asks promptly, his ears pricked and a wary look on his face.
Fuck. Why did I have to mention this?
Why do I have to make myself even smaller than I already am in his presence?
“Just, debt...,” I utter helplessly, avoiding eye contact as my focus turns down to the half-eaten burger on my plate.
“How much is it?”he wants to know. “And how does someone your age amass so much debt if you never went to college. It’s not student loans, is it?”
I shake my head. “Why does it matter?”
We exchange a look, tense silence stretching between us while he appears to search for the truth behind my eyes.
“Because I’m asking,” he says. “And you know I could easily help you—”
“You’re already helping me, aren’t you?” I interject. “That’s why we’re doing this, remember?”
He groans, and it seems like I’ve insulted him once again.
“Why do you need a fake fiancéeso badly?” I turn the tables on him. “You’re not telling me everything either, so why should I?”
