Page 65 of Forever Defiant
Me: The corner’s busy. I can’t think of anywhere else.
Sexy AFWR: Think harder
Me: Why don’t you try and think harder. Or does thinking hurt you too much?
There was no response. I didn’t know what to do now. Did I go back outside? Did I loiter? Loitering was bad; there were already too many people looking my way and sniggering. Fuck, I forgot about the video.
Me: Scratch the library, too many people are looking at me after... well, you know
Sexy AFWR: Then we don’t do this here
I hated to agree with him.
Me: I live in the apartments across from campus. Number 202. Third floor. Apartment E.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sexy AFWR: You just gave me your address
Me: I’m aware. I need ten minutes to get there and deal with Milly
The reply came slower this time.
Sexy AFWR: I’ll be there at nine
Me: This is not a date! Don’t expect anything
The response was immediate.
Sexy AFWR: Relax. I’m bringing someone with me.
Someone?
Me: Who?
The dots flashed once. Then vanished. He didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.
I hurried home, my mind racing and replaying our entire conversation. I didn’t dwell on the kiss. Nope. Didn’t think about it once. Not once.Tentimes, maybe...
I groaned as I crossed the street. He’d tell me what he knew, and I’d share what I learned. We’d either part ways or...
Or what?
What the heck was Dustin Slater going to do? He could tell me what he knew, as an informant. A confidential informant.The story was still mine to tell. Mine to research. He wouldn’t be sitting beside me at night, making print copy. After this conversation, it was unlikely we’d speak again.
I took the stairs to my apartment two at a time. At the door, Milly and I did the ‘welcome home, you’re not getting out’ dance, and then I made a pot of coffee because it was only seven thirty, and I flatly refused to clean my apartment while I waited for him.
“Will he bring the quarterback?” I wondered.
The thought was delicious.
If the QB knew... God, that was a story. Would he go on record? I chewed my lip in anticipation.
“Please, please let it be Spence,” I muttered as I fed Milly. She gave me a disgusted look when I placed her food bowl down, and I pretended I didn’t see the accusing glare that she wasn’t getting a tin of tuna tonight, but actual cat food.
“The inhumanity,” I scoffed, “that I’d serve the cat actual cat food. Imagine the headlines.”
