Page 92 of Saving Ian Pope

It had to work. Once Matt knew Ian and I were no more, nothing would stop him from exposing me with that video.

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A few hours later, with my stomach in knots and my hands clenched in my lap, Chloe circled Matt’s neighborhood. “Damn, I can’t even find a place to park on his block.”

I hit her arm. “There, there. That guy’s pulling out.”

She made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street and put on her signal. “I’m nervous about parallel parking my baby. Can you guide me into the spot?”

Grabbing my purse, I exited the car and stood on the sidewalk, waving my hands in the air. Chloe had every electronic parking feature known to mankind on her car; she shouldn’t have needed my efforts. If she was as nervous as I was, we were fucked.

With her Beamer snug against the curb, Chloe jumped out of the car. “Let’s roll.”

My legs felt like the pasta I just cooked as we walked down the block to Matt’s old-style apartment building. We veered onto the property that sat flush with the sidewalk. Each unit of the complex opened onto a cement quad with planter boxes filled with dead foliage and a few towering palm trees in the corners. The quad smelled like weed and damp clothing.

We planted ourselves in front of unit number five, and I knocked on the screen door, rattling it and causing a cat to jump from a basket chair nearby and flick its orange tail.

Matt swung open the door, and the smell of cigarettes wafted through the mesh of the screen. “Hey, you. Welcome to my humble abode.” He winked at Chloe, who was all smiles. “I plan to upgrade real soon, though. What’s the emergency?”

Damn. Too fast. I put my hand to my throat as if dying of thirst. “Can I get something to drink? And I never said emergency, did I?”

He narrowed his eyes so like my own. “You’re here, aren’t you? Across the pond.”

“I had to come home, anyway. Just thought I’d check in with you.” I pounded my throat with my fist. “Can I please have something to drink? Water.” As if we’d just crossed the Sahara Desert instead of the urban landscape of LA.

“Sure.” He eyed Chloe up and down like a starving man checking out the buffet. “Something for you, Chloe?”

“You have some wine?” She ran her tongue around her glossy lips. “Red, white, pink, doesn’t matter.”

My fingers dug into my thighs. She didn’t need to be drinking at this crucial moment. Flirting, yes. Drinking, no.

“I think I might have some white in the fridge. You’re lookin’ good. Still with that dickwad boyfriend of yours?”

“Nope. All broken up. White’s good.”

When Matt turned his back to walk into the kitchen, I sliced my finger across my throat. She lifted her shoulders and tipped her head toward the Bob Marley poster over a bookshelf crammed with old albums, CDs, DVDs, Xbox games, and a few books. Looked harder to reach than I had imagined.

When Matt returned with our drinks, I shifted my gaze from the poster and picked up a pamphlet from the sofa. My eyes bugged out when I saw the sleek Tesla on the front. “Don’t tell me...” I thrust the pamphlet at him.

“Yep, all mine. Bought her last week.” He handed me the glass of water with a smirk, and I had to grind my back teeth together to keep from smacking it off his face.

“How’d you manage that? You’ve gotten just 75 grand from me. That model costs more than 75K.” Chloe sidled up next to me and drilled her knuckle in my back as she took her wine from Matt.

Matt cocked his head. “From you? It’s not your money, sis, and duh. You ever hear of car payments? I put a down payment on it.”

“You qualified for a car loan?” I snorted, and Chloe drilled harder. “Did they actually do a credit check on you?”

“It’s not the best interest rate, but I gave them a hefty down...thanks to Ian Pope.”

The blood in my veins simmered, and I was two seconds from throwing my water in his face and throttling him.

Chloe took a big gulp of wine. “I got a new car, too, a BMW. Wanna see it?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Matt got a big grin on his face. “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine. Kinda like that?”

“Sure.” Chloe set her glass on the cluttered end table. “Let’s go.”

Was that my cue? I dragged my phone from my purse and studied the picture of Scruffy on my home screen, my mouth twisted to the side. I tapped the screen as if entering a text message.

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