Page 163 of Rush of Jealousy

“I’m all done.”

He shuts his laptop and turns in his seat to look at me. “Want to go for a walk down by the river?”

I nod my head yes. It is a surprisingly nice day for the end of November. And dry for once. He grabs his smoothie and holds the straw up to my lips. I take a sip. It really is good. I love the tart and sweetness of the berries.

“What do you think of your drink?”

“It’s really good, baby.”

I wave goodbye to Paul, but he stops me with a raised hand and a “hold up.”

He walks over to me with an envelope labeled “tips.”

“Oh thanks!” I say with a smile.

“We made out well today,” he says with a smirk. “Best day for tips since I started working here.”

“I bet,” I mutter, looking up at the man who deserves the praise.

Once we get to the car, I hop into the passenger’s side and lean my head back against the headrest as Graham searches for the best place to park along the waterfront. It wasn’t long ago I was here with Zander the night he decided to put terms on our friendship. Yet, everything right now—with this man—feels different.

We walk hand in hand along the smooth paved walkway that follows the path of the river. We talk about our day and make plans for dinner.

And just like that, we have fallen into a beautiful rhythm. One that I hope lasts forever.

29

On Tuesday, I arrive at the townhouse after my shift ends at three p.m. to catch Claire in her obnoxious disguise.

“Really? This is what you think is going to keep you from standing out in the crowd?” I ask, looking at her drag outfit. I’m not even sure it can be called drag, since she is dressing like a female still. It is just over-the-top and loud. “No. No, no, no, Claire. This will not do. You look hideous enough for the circus. You are supposed to blend in—not stand out.”

She pouts her bottom lip out. “Awww, you’re no fun.”

“True. But this is important. I need to know what Paul and Mark are doing. And if you can eavesdrop, that would really help me out. You’ll be in a public place, so dress as you would if you were simply going there to dine.”

“Okay.”

“I’m getting to the desperate stage for my article that'll get submitted to several news outlets offering internships. Not to mention, it will also be for a grade for my last class before graduation. I’m still holding out hope that I can convince Dr. Williams that this is worthy of writing about.”

“Fine,” she says, fluttering her fake eyelashes that are an inch in length. They look cartoonish and unnatural. “I’ll dial it back. But can I still wear a wig? I found a bunch I forgot about in the bottom of my Doomsday bin.”

I look at her with disbelief. “Why would you need them if the world was ending?”

“Because what happens if it’s a slow, drawn out end to the world? And they close access to all nonessential businesses…and my hair gets all wackadoodle, and I need it to look cute again, just so I can forfeit my body over to the highest bidder.” She pauses and then bursts into fits of tears and laughter. “Wait, that’s what I’ve been doing for the past six months. Shit. Anyhoo, at least I have that skill set already in place.”

“Silver lining,” I deadpan. How did we even get on this topic of conversation? I watch as she puts on a curly blond wig, makes a face into her phone for a selfie, and then puts another one on. Oh yeah, the disguise. “Dial it back at least by eighty percent. And post none of these on social media. You are supposed to keep a low profile and not stand out. This isn’t a fashion show or a photo op moment.”

“Okay. So not the pink wig.”

“How about no wig?”

“Killjoy.”

“Whatever.”

“Have some faith.”

“I have to go. Graham is coming home around five, and I want to make sure I have my things all packed for tomorrow when we leave for Hillsboro. What are Ethan’s Thanksgiving traditions?”

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