“It was more fun than I expected. I’m still so new to all of this. She’s very professional about what she does.”
“She takes it seriously.”
“How did you meet up?”
He leans back in his chair, grinning. “It’s not a story I know she wants me to share. She needed some work done. Not the kind of work you’re thinking.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“I can guess.” He’s not wrong. My mind went to the logical place, considering what I know about him. “What about you?”
“Me?” I take a sip of my soda and try to ignore the way the hair stands up on the back of my neck.
“Why did you go to the club? For real. What were you looking for?”
“I was being honest when I said it’s about the money. That’s the only reason I went.”
“You’re that hard up for cash?”
“I mean, who isn’t nowadays?” He doesn’t seem judgey, so I’m not insulted. “Not you guys, I guess.”
“No. We do okay.”
“How? I mean, for real. The items in that store were so expensive, and you’re paying me so much.” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation out in public, but I feel like I have to ask or else I’ll lose my nerve.
“We have a business, the three of us. We run it out of our apartment.”
“You live together, too?”
He nods before his attention perks up, his gaze fixed over my shoulder. “Food’s coming. I’m starving.”
He has no idea. I feel like my stomach is eating itself. “I hope you don’t think I’m a complete pig,” I offer before a plate slides in front of me. The fries smell so good, I could cry.
“Please. Food is for eating.” Like he wants to prove his point, he takes a gigantic bite out of his corned beef. It makes me feel better about the bite I take from my sandwich.
“So you three live together. How long have you known each other?”
“Since high school. We go back a long way.” His eyes flick over my face. “Why do you need the money?”
My stomach drops. I can’t even pretend to brush off the sudden question. “Why does it matter?”
“Are you in trouble? You don’t seem like the type.”
I can’t help myself. “What type do I seem like?”
“A nice girl. Smart. Probably a cheerleader.”
“I was,” I admit. “Until midway through senior year.”
“Why midway through?”
I pick up a fry and drag it through ketchup as an excuse to look elsewhere. “My parents died. I barely made it to graduation, but I think the teachers all felt bad enough for me that they helped me out. They knew how I really was, like back when my mom and dad were still living.”
“I’m sorry. That’s tough. So you’re on your own?”
I nod since the lump in my throat won’t let me speak. “I’m trying to get enough money together to move.”
“To a new place?”