Page 9 of The Right Garza
After gnawing at my lip in contemplation for a few seconds, I decide leaving it is better than taking it. I would just be putting myself into one kind of deep shit to get out of another type of deep shit. IfGlitzgets their diamond necklace back, there won’t be a reason to hunt me down to press charges.
So, swallowing my shame, I round the jeep and get in. Trent peels off before I even get the door closed.
Only when we’re out of the parking lot and in traffic does he reprimand, “Tell me you didn’t just attempt a jewelry dash.”
Face still aching, I flip down the visor and check in the mirror for bruises. Thankfully, there’s only an angry spread of red across my cheekbone. The last thing I want right now is to be walking around with a shiner.
To say I’m mortified is an understatement. Had it been anyone else who witnessed me getting caught after a failed jewelry dash, I wouldn’t have cared. But not a Garza brother.EspeciallyTrent. It seems like every time I land myself in a bit of a pickle, he’s the one to show up out of nowhere, judging me and bossing me around. That’s why I’ve always ditched him; out of sheer embarrassment.
Gahhh.
“Lexi,” he prompts when I don’t respond.
“What?”
“Why did you do that? Do you need money?”
Scooping my hair back, I twist it then wrap it around into a tight but unsecured bun. “Outer downtown central.”
“Huh?”
“That’s where I want you to drop me off,” I say tersely. “Richmond’s Guest Apartments.”
“Fuck that. I’m not dropping you anywhere until you tell me why the hell I just had to save you from going tojail.”
“No one asked you to do anything, dude. You could’ve just minded your own damn business like everyone else.”
“Doyou need money, Lexi?”
“Look, if you aren’t going to take me home, then let me off right over here.”
“Home? Fuck yeah, I’d be happy to take you home. Let’s spin this car around right now and take you straighthome.Where youshouldbe.”
“I see you’re still an asshole,” I mumble under my breath.
“And you’re still pigheaded as shit.”
I reach for the door handle to jump out, but it’s as if he anticipated it because he locks it from his side faster than I can pull the lever. I switch the lock open, but he just as quickly locks it again.
We repeat this over and over until I mumble a curse under my breath and give up. It’s useless. As long as he believes I need help, he isn’t going to let it go.
Like a pubescent teenager pissed from not getting her way, I cross my arms and sulk. “What were you doing in that parking lot anyway?”
“Ah, thanks for reminding me.” He reaches out and plucks his phone from its mount on the dashboard, punches in his password with his thumb, then tosses it in my lap. “Pull up Tiffany.”
Tiffany. Hmm. Must be the woman from last night. When I navigate to his phonebook, I find eight Tiffanys and two Tiffys. “Wow. You sure know a lot of Tiffanys.”
“It’s the one withVegasin brackets,” he says.Obviously. “Text her: ‘Sorry. Had to leave. Something important came up’.”
I type with deliberately slow fingers, dragging it out for as long as I can to take the attention off me. “Does Tiffany know about all the other Tiffanys?”
“Who are you in trouble with?” he demands.
So much for keeping the attention off me. “I’m not in trouble.”
I send off the text to Tiffany and sneak into his other texts.
“Stop lying. Iheardyou tell that guard you’re in trouble.”
