Page 93 of Filthy Rich

“You left some man without toilet paper?”

“I asked him nicely to share, and he told me—you know what? I don’t feel bad about it. They have paper towels. With a little creativity. . .”

“You could have grabbed the paper towels!” I smack my head.

“I should have thought of that.” Jake bites his lip.

I’m laughing when I hand the woman the roll the size of a pumpkin. “Good luck,” I say.

“You ready to go home yet?” Jake arches one eyebrow.

Just then, I hear a man shouting outside about someone stealing his toilet paper.

Jake shrugs. “Or, we could stay in here a little longer.”

The woman shoots out, runs her hands under the water for a very short time, and ducks out. We listen for a moment, but she doesn’t say a word about us to anyone.

“Probably didn’t want to be implicated,” Jake says. “Coward.”

I giggle.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers so quietly that I’m not entirely positive I heard it.

“How’s May?” I ask.

“Huh?” Jake turns toward me, and I realize I’m crouched against the wall with him on my left side. That never happens. I’m always aware of my good side, and I always position people there. Even after he dumped me, there’s just something about Jake that makes me feel safe around him, even when we’re hiding in a bathroom together as a result of noble criminal activity.

“You know, when you think about it, we should be getting praise,” he says. “We did a good deed.”

“You could have let the guy use it before you snatched it,” I say.

“He wasn’t even in the stall yet, and although I hid it behind my back, he should have checked that the stall had paper before going in.”

I snort. “We’re the Robin Hood of restrooms.”

“Exactly,” Jake says. “That was my favorite Disney movie.”

“It would be.” I shake my head. “Bunch of thieves.”

He smiles. “Precisely why I liked it. Some of us do what we do for good reasons.”

“Were your reasons for cutting the Fansees out good?” I ask. “Because Bea’s really hurting.”

Jake’s face falls.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Can’t you tell me?”

A muscle in his jaw works, but he shakes his head.

“You stole from them and your dad’s threatening to tell them?” I ask. “Because if you did take money from the Fansees, and your dad’s holding that over you, I think they’d forgive you.”

“He’s not my dad,” he snaps.

I blink. “What?”

He turns away.

“Jake, at least explain that. Do you just mean that you don’t like him, so you don’t consider him your father anymore? Because the Fansees are your real family, and I swear, they would?—”

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