Page 71 of A Breath of Life
“You can’t afford to put gas in your car most days. Check your privilege. There’s nothing wrong with Walmart.”
Diem launched from the dumpster, crashing bodily beside me with a resounding thud. Before I could commend him on his success, he snagged my arm and pulled me down so we lay side by side.
“What are we doing? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I wasn’t exactly quiet. Lie still for a few minutes in case someone heard and comes to investigate.”
“Good call.”
“Take notes.”
“I am.”
Diem’s much larger body warmed one side of me. I pecked a kiss on his temple, startling him.
“What was that for?”
“For bringing me with you. For trusting me to be part of this—whatever this is. I want to make you proud, D.”
Concern marred his features. “You’re a good investigator, Tallus.”
I shrugged. “I’m improving. Learning from the best.” I held up my scraped palms. “All this physical work, and I’ll be sporting gnarly calluses like you in no time.”
“Those calluses are from weight lifting.”
“Oh. Thank god. I was worried I would need to fit weekly manicures into my budget, and we both know I can’t afford that.”
Smirking, he took my hands and planted soft kisses on the abrasions. “Better?”
“Good as new, cuddle bear.”
The bear trapped behind his ribs growled with pleasure.
After a time, Diem got to his feet and helped me up. The second-floor window was a pain in the ass. Diem tested two or three tools before he managed to jimmy the lock and pry it open. Even then, he struggled to get his six-and-a-half-foot, two-hundred-and-sixty-pound frame through to the other side.
From there, we found a stairwell and headed to the third floor and Clarence’s apartment.
“Shouldn’t we knock first?” I asked when Diem withdrew his lockpicking kit.
“I told you. He’s not home.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“He could have come back while we drove around the city.”
“He didn’t.”
I had a dozen more questions, but Diem offered me the lockpicking kit, effectively erasing them all. I took the kit, confused. “Why are you giving this to me?”
“Open the door.”
“But—”
“Open the door. You haven’t shut up about getting the cabin open six months ago, and you’ve watched enough damn YouTube videos to drive me insane. By this point, you should be a pro. Let me see your hotshot skills. I’m timingyou.”
“What? That’s not fair. Timing me adds pressure. It’s bad enough I’m wearing a fashion disaster of a long-sleeved shirt when it’s unseasonably warm, but I don’t need stress sweat as well.”
