Page 41 of Unlucky Like Us

“Start somewhere. If you’re gonna shoot a load, you might as well get paid for it. And you have experience doing it.”

I die inside.

It’s like being sucker-punched, knowing that what he just said…Luna’s dad just heard.

“Don’t get weird about it,” he says quietly. “No shame in the game.”

I just nod, unable to speak.

He stands up, and I follow suit, gathering my half-eaten hoagie. Gonna take it to-go, even though my appetite has died too. My throat feels thick from the soda and conversation, so I buy a bottle of water from Mike. I pocket my wallet and take a few swigs.

My head is on a tilt-a-whirl.

I didn’t get him to admit to any wrongdoings, but I didn’t think he’d confess or implicate anyone in one sitting. As he goes to the jukebox, I ask, “You want to hang out again?”

He smiles over at me, surprise in his eyes. “Yeah. I’d like that.” He fishes in a quarter and punches the buttons. “See you around, Paul.”

It’s chilling hearing my name from his lips, but no more so than hearing the song he plays. The same one I always picked when an old lady gave me a quarter. “Winds of Change” by Scorpions.

I waver for a second. I shouldn’t want to return for any other reason than to rat him out. I shouldn’t like him, and I’m afraid I’m gonna fall into a trap where I do.

* * *

My head is still floatingabove me as I leave and find my way to the Mini Cooper. Lo picks me up further down the street. Hopefully no one notices.

I climb into the car.

Lo’s expression volleys between emotions I don’t try to read. It’d mean staring at his face for longer than a second, and it’s not a place I’m excited to reside.

He just learned I have experience getting paid for sex. He doesn’t know the details of what I did, and I’m sure his brain has been rolling through creative scenarios.

Mine would.

“You gonna drive?”

“You okay?” he asks sharply.

“I’m alive, so yeah.” I reach beneath my shirt, shut off the recorder, and unplug the mic like Thatcher showed me.

The hum of the air conditioning is all I hear as Lo charts a course for Center City.

He breaks the silence. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank—”

“For Ripley,” he cuts me off, and I look over. His eyes are bloodshot, reddened like he’s restraining the most stinging emotion. “You didn’t want me to know.” It’s not a question.

“I didn’t do it for you.” I lift my foot to the seat. He says nothing about my boot on the cushion. Elbow to my knee, I stare out the window, watching South Philly disappear behind us.

“What happens if you stop paying that prick?” Lo asks me.

“I don’t know. It’s why I haven’t stopped.”

His jaw sharpens. “I’ll pay him in the meantime.”

“No—”

“You realize I make more money than Connor Cobalt?” He makes a face at me like I hit my head on the curb. “Whatever you’re giving Scottie is chump change to me. I’m paying. He’ll still think it’s coming from you, and he won’t ask for more.”

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