I dig out my phone, letting a few Lifesavers fall to the pavement as I pull out the cell. Picking up the lollies with a set of eyes watching me shove them back into my pocket, I suggest, “Why don’t I call a buddy of mine to come get this? It’ll be cheap and I’ll make sure you get where you need to go.”
Her tongue drags across her bottom lip before her front teeth bite down onto it. Unlike most women I see lingering around here, her face looks absent of makeup. The natural beauty radiating from her clearly isn’t something she acknowledges, something I respect.
When her eyes evade mine, I know there’s something she’s not telling me. Chase does the same thing when he can’t admit whatever is on his mind.
I wait for a second.
Two.
Five.
Lowering the phone, I ask, “What is it?”
Rylee starts fidgeting before her head drops forward. “It’s nothing. Can you make that call and see how much it’ll be? I’m a little short on money right now.”
“Tourist?” I guess.
She shakes her head.
My eyes narrow curiously. “You live around here?”
There’s a pause. “Yes…”
I don’t bother asking where because I sense she regrets telling me what she has already. I know pushing my luck to get more from her would probably fail. “Okay.”
Making the call to one of Zayne’s friends who runs a decent shop downtown, I give him our address and wait with Rylee until one of his men shows up. I watch him circle her car and tinker with a few things before loading it onto his truck.
It isn’t until he gestures his chin toward me after examining the vehicle that I walk over to him. I recognize the man from the few times I’ve visited the garage when Zayne hung out there, so I slap his hand in greeting. “What’s up, Ed? Thanks for coming out.”
His eyes go over his shoulder for a moment, gaze directed at Rylee who’s leaning against the hood of my Mustang. Her arms are crossed over her chest, hugging her jacket close to her body as she watches something across the street.
Eddie scrubs his cheek and murmurs, “I can’t be 100% certain, but I think your girl is living in her car.”
I gape at him with raised brows, hoping I heard him wrong. “Come again?”
His chin dips. “When I was looking around, I noticed the way her backseat is set up. She’s got all the essentials. Not my first rodeo around here. I’ve seen it plenty times before. It’s not uncommon.”
Cursing under my breath, I give him a terse nod before he smacks my back in comfort and heads toward his truck.
I walk over to Rylee, teeth grinding as I contemplate my options. Eventually, I go with my gut. “Come on.”
She pushes off the car with her bag thrown over her shoulder. “Where are we going? He didn’t give me a bill or—”
“I’ve got it.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Can you afford it?” I pry, eyebrows drawn up in inquiry. I know the truth the moment her surprised glance meets mine that tells me she knows I do too.
So she doesn’t bullshit me. Her throat bobs as she replies, “No, I can’t.”
“Then come on.”
She doesn’t budge. “Where?”
I point toward my car, not giving away any emotion when I simply say, “My place, love.”
4 Rylee
This is a bad idea.
Anxiety creeps into my chest as the famous singer drives past the gate after punching in a code, and down the long, circular driveaway that leads up to the front of his huge house. There’s already a car parked in front of the garage, a shiny, expensive white BMW, and I wonder how many vehicles Garrick has as he parks beside it.
Taking in the white exterior of the house silently from the passenger seat, I twist my fingers together in my lap and feel my stomach flutter with nerves. I try not to think about what comes next because Garrick has given me no indication of what that may be. The car ride was quiet with only the sounds of passing traffic and city life surrounding us as we drove into the cul-de-sac he lives in.
I follow the famous singer to the front door after he gives me a few seconds to study the plain walls of the squared mansion-like building and the front yard that consists of mostly pavement and a few strips of bright green grass. There are no plants or trees, only a line of hedges planted in front of the gate to create a sense of privacy from the street. I can see where there must have been either a small tree or fountain in the circular patch of grass around the driveway, but someone must have taken it out. If Grandma Birdie were here, she’d insist on planting a small garden to bring color and life into the otherwise dull space.
He punches something into the lock pad on the door before pushing it open and gesturing for me to come inside. I stop before the threshold, suddenly regretting not telling him to drop me off at a random hotel. Why did I have to tell him I lived around here? If Moffie was around, she would have reminded me of every single serial killer documentary we watched together that leads to my body being found in a ditch wrapped in a rug or something.
“You’ve come this far,” he points out, already a few feet ahead of me inside the foyer. His accent goes straight to my chest, making my heart do a little summersault. I understand why girls scream when he purrs into the microphone at concerts, a fact I know from the many, many videos Moffie showed me as soon as Violet Wonders made it big.
From here, I can see beautiful hardwood floors and bright white walls that match the white-washed exterior. There isn’t any furniture in view, save for the coatrack hanging up on a wall near the door that only has one measly
