Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174544 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Tom and Eliot make it too easy. They tell Luna they’ll catch up later. Apparently, they need to go to Calloway Couture HQ for another suit fitting, and maybe they’re being cautious to not overwhelm her with too much information at once.
So I’m headed back to the penthouse with Luna for an SFO emergency meeting.
One that I asked Akara to call.
It’s really happening.
35
PAUL DONNELLY
“What’s wrong with this picture? I’m early but all the motherfuckers who live here are late,” Oscar says while flipping through a worn hardback. Didn’t get a good look at the title.
I’m sitting on the wooden rung of a ladder, old books shelved behind me. The penthouse library isn’t that quiet since Gabe, Quinn, and Frog have been arguing in the corner. Been eavesdropping on them until Oscar started talking.
“I live here and I’m early,” I tell him.
“Besides you…” His voice tapers off, catching sight of the unfolding rookie drama.
“He didn’t kill your girlfriend’s crybaby Gerber Gerbil,” Frog protests, waving her iced coffee toward Quinn. “He’s not a psychopath.”
“You met him, what? Three days ago?” Quinn says. “I don’t expect you to know what he’s capable of doing or even his middle name.”
“Middle name’s probably Fred,” I joke to Oscar, but we’re both on guard. Who is Frog even bringing into their apartment? Does Akara know? I’ve been out of the security loop since I was thrown in jail. On the fringe. Trying to race back to the middle.
“Fuck Fred,” Oscar says. “He’s out here killing my baby bro’s gerbil.”
His girlfriend’s gerbil, but I don’t correct Oscar.
“He’s not a gerbil killer,” Frog repeats. “His intentions are good. Stop trying to turn him into some evil archetypal villain when he’s been nothing but there for me.”
“There for you?” Quinn shakes his head roughly. “You’ve known him for three days!”
“I didn’t like him,” Gabe Montgomery states, his thick biceps crossed over thicker pecs.
Oscar shuts the book. “When’s the last time you’ve heard Montgomery hate someone?”
Not sure. “Why are we trusting Monty’s intuition over Frog’s?” I ask Oscar.
Gabe adds, “He smelled like oat milk.”
I grin, nearing a laugh, and Oscar mutters, “That big buffoon.”
“Team Froggy.” I make finger horns.
“He isn’t an oat milk smelling gerbil murderer,” Frog says, then swings her iced coffee in my direction. What the fuck? “Donnelly knows him. Donnelly.” The rookies spin towards me. “You know Scooter. He said you go way back.”
My brows catapult up my face. “Scooter?”
“Who’s Scooter?” Oscar asks me.
Yeah, we go way back—before I met Oscar at Yale. Hell, before I even tagged along on Farrow’s collegiate adventure and left for the Ivy League.
I tell Oscar, “When I apprenticed in Old City, he worked at the same tattoo shop. I was seventeen.” I eye Frog, wondering what she’s doing with someone like Scooter. “He’s five years older than me.”
Quinn chokes on air. “What?”
“Yeah, guy’s gotta be about thirty-four now.” I keep talking, even though Oscar has gone from a relaxed slouch to a Tin Man position. “Don’t remember much about him other than he has a full sleeve of an octopus and submarine girl.”
“He’s nice,” Frog insists. “I met him at the tattoo shop. I was thinking about getting something done to represent my aunt, and we got to talking about life and Philly during the sketch session.”
I ask her, “You didn’t wanna come to me?” I frown. “I would’ve given you a friend’s discount.”
Frog wiggles her straw. “You’ve been busy. I didn’t want to take you away from what’s going on with…” Luna. “She needs you, and you better be there for her.” The heat in her eyes makes me smile.
“Said like her Number One Protector,” I say.
Frog nods, but uncertainty stiffens her posture. Her position on the team as Luna’s bodyguard is more up in the air since Luna’s threat level has increased, and I haven’t heard if she’s being transferred yet.
To all of us, Frog decrees, “You might not like Scooter, but I do. It feels good being heard, you know? And he listens.”
It brings me back to the crime scene. The cratered dead-end road. The rain. How Frog turned to me for comfort and I brushed her off—and she hasn’t tried to come to me again. Instead, she’s now seeking refuge in a complete stranger.
I’m lost in this thought, not even noticing Quinn approaching me and Oscar. Frog and Gabe are bickering in the corner about Scooter’s hygiene and oat milk.
“What’s a thirty-four-year-old dude doing with an eighteen-year-old girl?” Quinn whispers to us. “Tell me you both think it’s weird.”
Maybe not weird. I like weird, and I don’t like Scooter hanging around Frog after she just witnessed something traumatic.
“Sus for sure,” I say casually, then look to Oscar.
He’s observing Frog while she gesticulates with her iced coffee at Gabe. He tells us, “We might need an SFO come-together about what happened.”