Page 47 of Yolo

“I’m up, I’m up,” I said to Boss.

Boss licked my cheek, and I peeled my eyes open and stared at the ceiling for a bit before forcing myself out of bed.

I’d spent hours last night going over scenarios in my head, and the only one I could come up with was that I needed to distance myself from Bindi.

There was no way that we’d been found out.

That he knew that I wanted her with the strength of a thousand suns.

Boss barked, reminding me he was still waiting, and I sighed.

“Go outside and sit there while I finish,” I muttered.

Boss gave a bemused sniff and went out onto the balcony.

I went to the bathroom.

When I was finished and had my teeth brushed, I grabbed a pair of sweatpants off the end of my bed and slid them on.

Next were the socks that I’d worn yesterday, as well as the glasses that were next to the nightstand.

I didn’t bother with a shirt, because I planned on throwing my hoodie on as I left.

But when I called to Boss that I was ready to take him outside, he never came.

I frowned and walked to the sliding glass door that led to the balcony—I’d slid a huge dog door insert into the slider so he could go and come as he pleased.

When I got there, I found Boss on his belly, head between the railing, paws slightly hooked on the edge of the floor, and tongue lolled out.

“What are you doing?” I asked him as I moved to the window beside the balcony.

When I looked down, it was to see a hand come up from the balcony below and hand out a potato chip.

I rolled my eyes as Boss leaned down to snatch it up greedily.

When I picked up my phone and shoved it in my pocket, Boss gave one last woof and headed toward me, eager to get outside.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go to the shitter.”

Boss ran at my side, eager to get downstairs.

I allowed him the freedom to take himself ahead of me, and emerged outside to find him already in the dog yard. An elderly woman, Timmy, waved. “He was ready and wasn’t willing to wait for you.”

I snorted. “He has zero patience.”

“Agreed.” She chuckled as she walked back to her seat, picked up her crossword puzzle and ignored me.

Everyone that lived here were good people.

I liked them all—at least the ones that I came into contact with.

Glancing one last time at Boss as he played, pooped, and peed everywhere, I pulled out my phone and read through the messages that came in overnight.

One in particular that I zeroed in on first was the message from Quaid.

I’d sent him the video last night of Baron Harper, the new leader of the Breakers Gang, and he hadn’t gotten back to me until this morning.

Quaid:

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