Page 16 of The Crowned Garza
“What’s his name?”
The words slam into me when I’m halfway up the stairs, giving me pause.
Wait, couldGuybe behind Preston Matthews’s karma?
No. There’s no way.
Yet, if I’m right about him, hecouldbe.
And I don’t know if that notion terrifies me or excites me.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Skill.”
Tillie
Six Months Later
HEADLIGHTS GLIDE OVER MEas the familiar Range Rover careens into the parking lot.
My annoying heart stutters, but I refuse to participate in its nonsense. Let it be stupid and confusing on its own tonight. I’m not in the mood.
Six months have flown by since I last called the fraud for aid. Not because all the weird and confusing things my body did when I was close to him scared me off. Nope, not at all.
“Operation Mask Off: Exposing Bad ‘Guy’” was put on pause becauselifebecame a little hectic for me. In the last six months, I’ve had a birthday bash, graduated from culinary school, lost a relative to cancer, went to Jamaica for a month for the funeral, followed by another relative’s wedding, followed by another relative’s baby shower, came home and started a new job, got fired, started another job, got fired again, went to New York to visit the bestie and rant, then came home and started a new job again under a megalomaniac who constantly picks on me for no reason.
Tonight, though, has been an exceptionally bad night of being yelled at and talked down to. My car’s at the garage, and while I could’ve just gotten a cab, I figured I’d resume Operation Mask Off to channel my frustration and blow off some steam.
Ever the jerk, he parks in a position that leaves the headlights blinding me then obnoxiously honks his horn.
In no hurry, I amble to the car and get in.
The familiar scent of this confined space swaddles me like a comfort blanket. Why’s my whole body sighing with placidity as if itmissedit? This fragrance of leather, lies, deception, and guile?
Of its own volition, a moan rolls in my throat.
Oh flesh, why must you be so defiantly autonomous? Why must you continue to out and embarrass me?
Voice flat, he asks, “Where’s your car?”
“Getting serviced.”
“Are you in trouble? Fear for your life?”
“Nope.”
“Then why did you call me?”
“Because I missed you, Bow Tie.” I lean over the console and pat his cheek. “Didn’t you miss me?”
“Like I miss getting a prostate exam.”
“Liar. You know my voice is your peace.”
He ignores me and aggressively reverses off the lot.
“I got an anonymous gift on my birthday a few months ago,” I say, kicking off my Crocs and propping my feet up on the dash. “An outrageously beautiful gold charm bracelet. Clearly custom-made, clearly expensive, if the diamond studs are anything to go by. For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out who it was from. Maybe I’ve got a secret admirer?”
