I clutch my denim purse that’s slung over my body and follow him out. “Where do you stay when you’re in town?” I ask when he leads me to the parking garage elevator.
Riley’s gaze flicks over to meet mine. “I have an apartment here, too.”
“Why didn’t you shower at your apartment?” I ask, confused.
Riley cracks his knuckles by his sides. “We share things,” he says, gaze crackling as he leans against the other side of the elevator, watching me. “What’s your favorite breakfast?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Honestly, I’m not usually awake for breakfast.”
Riley tells me he’s going to take me to his favorite place and leads me to his car. It’s a matte black sports car. I stop walking when he holds the door open for me. “Watch your head, it’s low to the ground.”
“I see that,” I say, trying to formulate words. It has a new, fresh smell inside and when he closes the door and rounds to the other side, I wonder if I’m still dreaming. Riley starts up the engine and rubs his hands together to warm them up. He turns the heat on and moves all the vents to aim at me.
“I need to ask a personal question,” I finally say.
Riley laughs, and it’s the one that fills me with happiness. I never knew being around someone like this could be such a serotonin lift. Being in his presence makes me happy. “I can probably guess but give it your best shot.” He pulls out of the garage and pulls onto the road in front of the warehouse.
“What do you do? Or what does your family do?” His profile is dreamy. He gets to live life looking like this. They may pretend but we all know the beautiful people live a different life. “I would have assumed you and Jesse were into art and that was it. I don’t know much about that and I was willing to accept that, but then last night Matteo looked at you like you were something worse than he is.That is scary.” My stomach flips. “Terrifying actually. I know what he’s capable of.”
He presses his lips together and seems to be contemplating how much he wants to tell me. Riley speeds up and I can feel the speed in my throat. “It’s better you do not know much. I come from a powerful family. The kind of family that has influence over most things in this world.”
“You walk around untouchable in Dirt Downs?” I croak. “Or you are untouchable everywhere? I’m not questioning you; I just don’t understand. Dirt Downs is the world I know. What you’re saying doesn’t fit into that picture.” People who hold influence over gangs? How? Why?
“What’s the one thing people kill each other over in Dirt Downs?” Riley asks.
“I mean, they kill each other over stupid shit, but I guess I’d say money?”
“Exactly,” he replies, tone a low growl. “He who has the most money has the most power.” He licks his lips and they glisten in the morning sun.
“You’re rich.” It’s not a question. “And rich in a way that threatens the gang’s finances.”
Another grin. “You’ve got it, lamb.”
Staring straight ahead, I try to peg wherehefits. “And Jesse is your brother?”
“What did he say when you asked him?” Riley counters.
I balk. “I didn’t ask him that, I tried not to ask him much. I don’t know him yet. I feel like we are strangers, but he has managed to change my life at the same time.”
“I’ll tell you what, you ask him that question. We are here.”
He parks far from any cars, and snaps at me when I open my car door before he can. I make a mental note. The diner looks like a shiny metal spaceship, all oblong and glistening with delicious smells wafting on the breeze. I’ve never been to a restaurant before, and I can’t let him know it.
“Thank you,” I say when he looks back at me.
“For what?” He furrows his brows.
“First, for last night. You have no interest in protecting me, and you did. And for this.” I gesture to the diner.
“Jesse was the one who handled last night.” He frowns. “I can give you breakfast though.”
He speaks cryptically, too, but there’s something more open about Riley. He knows who he is and where he stands. I guarantee there’s nothing in his past he’s running from. Riley is telling me about his favorite thing to eat here as he opens the door for me. The delicious scent hits me full force and my stomach lurches to life with a loud growl.
“Well, let’s take care of that,” Riley says, wrapping an arm around my waist as the employee leads us to a table. I slide onto the bench and Riley follows, sitting next to me. I know what comes next from watching television and movies, and it’s going to get awkward fast. She hands us menus, her gaze lingering a little longer than necessary on Riley before leaving us to figure out what we want to eat.
“I already know what I want,” he says, pushing the book to the empty side of the table. Opening it, I stare at the words and letters and will my stupid brain to find something familiar. Riley is telling me how well the art show did last night and thank God he’s distracted so he can’t see my face screwed up using all my efforts to decipher whatever this book is trying to communicate. There are a few photos of food on the bottom, and I figure at the very least I can just point to one of those if I can’t read anything.
“He told me,” Riley says, breaking me from my stupid trance. “About your dyslexia. Let me know if you need help reading the menu.” My jaw opens. “Don’t be embarrassed, it doesn’t affect your intellect, it’s just letters.” No one understands that. In school and during childhood, I was always labeled as less than—dumb. I knew I wasn’t, but how can I explain that when I can’t do something as basic as reading? Now I know it has a name. A curse.