Page 43 of Plum

“You should reach out. Find out what he wants. Get your head straight. If we see our chance, we need to be ready.” Eric slaps my shoulder.

I nod.

“I can’t do it without you, brother.”

His words are a weight, another tether tying me to this desk, this building, this town. It chafes, and after he leaves, and I’m left staring at a DMV photo of Jo-Beth Connolly’s scowling face, I can’t take it anymore.

I pull up Ryan Morrison’s email, shoot him a reply, and I wait for some relief, some break in this unbearable tension. Nothing. I’m drawn back to the photo, and a manic energy drives me to stand, throw on my jacket, and head down to the garage.

As soon as I’m on the road, my heart starts thudding in my chest, and adrenaline roars down my veins.

Fuck Wade-Allyn.

Fuck what everyone wants and what I’m supposed to do.

And fuck that little thief who’s crawled into my brain like it’s nothing, who’s lit me up so I can’t help but see I’ve been a zombie staggering from place to place for too damn long.

She doesn’t get to walk away like it was nothing. She doesn’t get to decide. I do.

And I’m going to own that ass of hers, take what I want until I can think again and the ground is even again under my feet. If it takes a couple thousand, so be it. If money can’t buy love, it sure as shit can buy Jo-Beth Connolly. The thought tears up my guts, and I use it to push away all the shit until I’m clear-headed and roaring down the highway, high on speed and what counts in my life as freedom.

CHAPTER 6

PLUM

The good news is it’s been over twenty-four hours, and if Adam was gonna have me arrested, he’d probably have done it by now. It’s not like I been hiding. I worked last night, and I’m at work now.

I searched for the champagne on the internet, and he wasn’t shitting me. $18,000. So now I’ve got it on a shelf in my basement, hidden behind some paint cans. I figure that’s close to a wine cellar. I don’t know what to do with it. I can’t sell it. That’s grand theft. I got this vague idea that I could tell the cops I thought he meant to give it to me. That might hold up if I look really sorry and give the bottle back.

The bad news is my brain’s gone stupid. I keep thinking about the other night. Not about the fucking. Well, not only about the fucking. I think about dumb shit. Like how Adam kept his glasses on during sex. He was sleeping in them, too, up in his desk chair. He’s gonna break ‘em doing that.

And when he was on his knees, on the floor at my feet. The way he looked up at me. Like he was lucky or something.

I hate that man’s apartment, though. He had absolutely nothing to make it feel like a home. The only thing on his bedside table was a lamp. No lotion, no catalogs, no charger. Nothin’. Who’s got absolutely nothing on their bedside table? Not even a tissue box?

Except for the loft with all the books, it felt like a hotel room. Maybe he don’t really live there. Maybe it’s his place to crash and take hookers.

I frown. Danielle catches my eye from across the bar and flashes me a fake grin, drawing a big smiley face with her fingers. I was bitching about my tips being off earlier, and she said it’s ‘cause I look like I’m sucking lemons. More so than usual.

She’s probably right. I’m cranky today. It’s been pissing me off when customers cop a feel. Usually, it’s water off a duck’s back. I need to get my head in the game. Eight hours last night and three hours tonight, and I ain’t been able to scrounge up one lap dance. Given, it’s been slow, but I can’t pay my bills on tips from the floor show.

It don’t help that I’m fixated on my phone. I keep excusing myself to the bathroom so I can check for messages. I’m an idiot. I know Adam ain’t gonna text me. After the stunt I pulled, I’m truly surprised he didn’t call the cops. Him letting it go is the best-case scenario.

And what am I thinking? He’s gonna be allwyd? Still, I keep checking. And every time there’s no message, my stomach sinks. Which is stupid.

You can’t miss someone you only met three times.

And it’s dangerously foolish to convince yourself that you’ve caught feelings for a customer. That’s how you end up giving it away for free and losing your job along with your mind.

“If you gonna flat out wear your bitch face, I’m gonna send you home,” Cue rasps in my ear and slaps my ass. I startle and wobble dangerously on my heels. Shit. He snuck up on me.

I follow Danielle’s suggestion and plaster on my fakest smile. “Better, boss?”

“How’s that even scarier than your other face?”

“Look like I’m up to somethin’?”

“Looks like you’reonsomething. Like meth.” Cue cackles at his own joke. I grind my teeth and smile wider. “Go work the booths. And quit pretending to take a piss so you can check your phone. You keep it up, I’m gonna dock your pay.”

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