Page 63 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

She yanks a hanger off the rack and thrusts it at me. “You should totally get this.”

I shift back, surprised by the sudden intrusion. As I hold it up, my jaw sags in awe. It’s a lovely blue sundress printed with charming yellow roses. Just my style. And size.

“Oh, wow!” I say. “This is actually really nice.”

“Logan will absolutely lose it.”

I look back at Tesla just in time to see the coy smile touch her lips. “What?”

“Let me see,” Goldie says behind me, startling me to turn toward her. She takes one look at the dress and nods, chuckling as she drops the black jumpsuit into Tesla’s basket. “Oh, yeah. Boss’ll go monosyllabic.”

“He will?” I ask, my cheeks pinking.

“Just his type,” Tesla agrees, though I’m not sure if she means me or the dress.

I don’t bother to ask.

I drop the dress into my basket.

17

LOGAN

Istrum my guitar with closed eyes, letting the first bars flow through my fingers before starting again, trying to find the next notes. The next lyrics. It’ll all come to me eventually, that I know. But at the moment, something is blocking me.

That something being obvious.

In what could be mistaken for comedic cosmic timing when it’s really just sheer and stupid bad luck, my phone chimes on the coffee table ahead of me.

I open my eyes. Nearly every inch of the surface is covered in yellow sticky notes, except for the screen with the brand-new text notification just waiting to ruin my night.

Unknown

Tick tock, Mr. Shock.

An unrecognized number, but I deleted that man from my contacts the moment we leaked the audio of him confessing his evil plans.

I scoff. It’s only beenone day. Patience is a virtue, isn’t it?

I grab the phone and send a reply.

Logan

I’m working on it.

Dropping the phone back on the table—this time, face down—I take a breath, attempting to close my eyes and flow back into the song, but I hit the same block before I even reach the end of the first verse.

Frustrated, I set my guitar down and stare at the mess of sticky notes instead. As I do, memories flash into my mind. Light ones. Pleasant ones.

Katrina ones.

Watching her sing karaoke at Diablo Pink. Listening to Criminal Records’ bus conversations, but only hearing her laugh. The way she looked at me in Chicago when we asked them for help. She was the only one who believed me, the only one who seemed to… care.

You move like a song, I've always known,

A melody stitched deep in my bones…

I grab a pen and fumble to find my blank stack of notes as a keycard slides through my lock.

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