Page 26
The music fades to her heavy breaths, probably as she hustles somewhere away from the noise.
“Okay, can you hear me now?”
“Yeah. How did you get my number?”
“I’m at the bar, and Dale’s here! He’s trashed. Buying everyone drinks!”
“Okay …. Again, how did you get my number, though?”
“Dale, duh! Get your ass up here before he sobers up and realizes his tab!” Her laughter through the phone is annoying as hell, and I wait until she stops. “I’ve never seen him so blitzed!”
“Hey, I have a bone to pick with you.” Perhaps now isn’t the time, but neither is my next shift, when I have to work with her and possibly run into Harv again. “Tell Harv the next time he threatens me, I’ll have the Chicago PD pay him a little visit.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The note he left on my car?”
“No idea what you’re talking about. Hang on, he’s right here. I’ll ask him.”
“No, wait—”
“Hello, Nolick. What’s going on?”
“It’s Nola. You know it’s Nola. Quit with the shit. And while you’re at it, quit leaving notes on my car. It’s fucking creepy.”
“I don’t recall leaving a note on your car, but I’ll take that into consideration.”
“You don’t recall asking me … a question?”
“Are you considering my offer?”
Ugh. The guy has no shame. No shame, at all. “No, you sick fuck! And if you ever threaten to strangle me, or rape me, again, your ass will be in serious jeopardy, hanging out with the gang members at the jail.”
“Look, Nola. I’m a dick. And a perv. A whole lot of other things. But I never ever hurt a woman who wasn’t begging me for it. That sadist shit isn’t really my bag.”
I don’t believe that for one second, but at least now he knows I’m onto him. “Don’t fuck with me, Harv.”
“But I—”
I click out of the call before giving him a chance to respond.
Shit. I’m going to have to rescue Dale before he has to remortgage his home to pay for a bunch of drinks. “Goddamnit!” It sucks being the only responsible adult, sometimes. And since I’m already riled up, it might be a good time to ask for rent, particularly as I have to make the mortgage payment no later than next week.
I change quickly, throwing on a sweater and jeans, then head out the back door. The lights are still on in the apartment as I climb the staircase and knock on the door. My palms are sweating right now, and my heart feels like its pounding against my stomach, stirring up nausea. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had issues asking for cash. I once donated plasma just to avoid asking my dad for gas money. Not that he wouldn’t have given it to me, but the thought of asking just felt degrading, for some reason. This is why Denny lived essentially rent free for months before I worked up the balls to hound him about the bills, and that was only because I was seriously sinking beneath the surface in those days before his death.
The door swings open to reveal the most muscular chest I’ve ever seen in my life, chiseled with lean, cut muscle and a few scattered tattoos. Like looking at a real-life sculpture standing before me.
And tucked in the crook of one massive bicep is a tiny black kitten.
Mouth gaping, I tip my head and point to the small creature. “Um. Cats. Cats aren’t allowed up here. Pretty sure I said no pets.” I can’t even look at his face after ogling his body.
“You said no prostitutes.”
“Pets, or prostitutes.”
“You never said pets.”
I finally lift my gaze to his, only to offer a scowl at his annoying banter. “Well, I meant to.”
