I shouldn’t tell him because he’ll just mock me like my asshole brothers. On the other hand, he doesn’t have to know all the details. And he can find stuff. Everyone at Z tells him what he wants to know.
Stick to the bare facts. Give him just enough to help without prompting any unnecessary commentary.
“I met this woman at Z,” I begin. “I’m trying to figure out how to track her down.”
He shrugs, like I’ve asked him to pick up a napkin or something. “What’s her name?”
Damn it. I should’ve insisted on exchanging names, rather than going along with her silly “anonymous” routine. “I, uh, don’t actually know. I called her Skittles.”
His eyebrows twitch. “Was your blood sugar low?”
“Come on, man. I don’t need this crap.”
“It’s not crap. I can help.”
“Really?” I feign surprise. “What will I owe you?” In TJ’s world, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Only free beatings.
“Nothing. You’ve always been loyal to Tony.” He turns his head and spits. “Your parents treated him like the plague.” TJ’s loyalty to Tony could put a samurai to shame. “Did she do anything at the club? Buy a drink, use a credit card?” he asks, although he doesn’t look optimistic. He knows I always pay.
“She was running a tab. But I don’t think she settled it before we left.” Thinking about how hot we were to get private makes me hard…and the memory of the post-sex morning pisses me off. Now I finally understand how people can have hate-fucks.
“Doesn’t matter. We always take their credit card first, just in case. Who was the bartender?
“Diego,” I say. “Benny was working, too.”
“Lemme check.” He taps his phone screen.
After a couple of beats, I ask, “So…?”
He shoots me a mildly irritated expression. “This might take more than four seconds. But don’t worry. I’ll let you know.”
“Okay, thanks.” Nothing to be done about the wait. But while TJ is working on getting me Skittles’ name, I can fantasize about my revenge.
Chapter Eight
Court
Almost two weeks pass, and nothing from TJ. The fiery need for revenge is no longer burning as brightly as before. More like I’m annoyed with TJ for being so friggin’ slow.
I bet he forgot. Typical.
Now I wish I’d insisted on exchanging names. Then I wouldn’t be having to rely on him.
Of course, if I’d insisted on real names, I might not have gotten laid.
I think about that for a while. It’s like the tree in the forest. Kind of philosophical.
I could’ve used Skittles’ bright cheeriness since our night together. It’s seriously annoying dealing with my parents, both of whom call me at all hours for very different—but equally annoying—reasons.
Dad wants me to work for him because…Family Legacy. Mom wants me to take his offer…on the condition that he reconciles with her. But they need to have their lawyers figure all that stuff out, not me.
Actually, even if I could bill them a thousand bucks an hour, I wouldn’t want to be involved. I’m neutral. An island. A son called Switzerland.
Even Nate senses my piss-poor mood, because he drags me out to a comedy club, saying tonight’s acts are especially funny. I’m not big on comedy clubs, but I humor him, trying to be a good friend.
People around me laugh, but I tune them out, the way I tune out the laugh track on a TV show. So irritating.
I gesture at a waitress for another drink as the crowd hoots. Nate, who should have better taste and maturity, is clapping like a baby who’s seeing somebody blow a raspberry for the first time.