Page 132 of Let's Get Textual

Out of nowhere, a police cruiser comes barreling down the street, screeching to a halt right in front of Zach’s house. The red and blue lights reflect off the house, off me. I flatten myself against the wall and glance up to Robbie, my panic level at an all-time high.

“What the shit is happening?”

He’s trying hard not to laugh. “I think you tripped the alarm trying to break in.”

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“Go. I’ll handle it.”

“Zoe’s my ride!”

“I’ll make sure she meets you at your rendezvous point.”

“Make sure to say you could go for a cake. That’s our code phrase.”

“Cake? Really?”

“What? I was hungry when I came up with it.”

He laughs. “Go.”

I nod and take off running through strangers’ back yards. When I finally feel like I’m in the clear, I stop to catch my breath and walk the rest of the way, the goat in my arms grinning the entire time.

It’s another ten minutes before Zoe finally pulls to a stop in front of me.

I hastily climb into the car and she peels away.

“Well?”

“You tripped the alarm.”

“Aren’t they supposed to call about those kinds of things?”

“They did, but I was trying to keep Zach busy and it turns out your boy is super polite and won’t answer his incessantly buzzing cell phone while someone is talking to him.”

I laugh. “Crap.”

“Yeah, but turns out Robbie is really nice. He kept doing this weird thing with his nose, like this.” She flicks at her nose twice with her thumb. “I thought he just had issues until he finally said he could go for a cake and nodded toward the door like he had a tic in his neck. By the way, that man isfine.”

“Robbie?” She nods. “Yeah, he’s not bad on the eyes.”

“Not bad!” she screeches. “He’sgorgeous!”

I can see it in her eyes—Robbie’s just become prey to her.

“He has a son.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders deflate, and I know Robbie is now a lost cause to her. “Anyway, Zach didn’t suspect a thing. How did Robbie find you?”

“I tried climbing into the wrong room.”

“Shut up.” She titters. “Only you.”

I run my hands through a sleeping Marshmallow’s fluff.

“But you got your goat,” she says.

“I got my goat.”

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