Sneak Attack by Cari Quinn Page B

situation was, I needed to find out.
    I skirted the return trip of the skateboarder, ducking into the doorway of the corner bodega to avoid being mowed down. A blonde girl in the store made me snap back to the scene in the alley. I’d written it off as typical drunk nonsense, but what if wasn’t? What if my caller had gotten bold?
    And grown a vagina?
    It was probably dumb—and sexist—to assume my harasser was male. That was the more logical choice, since I was pretty sure men did the bulk of such harassing. But I wasn’t the sort of woman men stalked. My barely B-cups were hardly the stuff of fantasies. Unless it was a fighter or someone involved with the circuit, as I’d briefly entertained. There my lack of gravitational barriers might be considered desirable.
    Doubtful, but maybe.
    If it was someone from my past—that made me sound so worldly, as if I’d ever done anything of significance other than getting kidnapped and killing to get free—then it was even less likely it was a young female. I couldn’t be certain the woman tonight had been young, but that was the vibe I’d gotten from her build and style of dress.
    Too many threads, not enough knots.
    Pressing my back to the wall next to the door, I eyed the girl with the blonde hair until I ascertained she wore jeans, not shorts. Not bright white sneakers with the swoosh on the side. The only reason I’d noticed those in the alley was because I’d always coveted fancy sneakers. My budget hadn’t allowed for anything but the cheapest brand for so long. Now I had a bit more breathing room, assuming I didn’t keep loading on the ink, yet I was still coveting the shiny.
    My phone vibrated in my pocket and I dragged it out, exhaling gratefully at Tray’s name. I held it to my ear and waited for his deep, rich voice to fill my head and chase every other thought away. That was his gift to me, and he gave it to me every day we spent together.
    “People love me,” he said, his voice lacking all intonation. “ People .”
    Oh man. Had I said people ? Of course I had. Because those three little words still made me feel too vulnerable.
    It had gotten easier to say them. Sometimes I managed it without stuttering. Those times were rare.
    Shutting my eyes, I moved out of the store doorway and leaned against the barred plate glass window. The smell of patchouli and weed blew out of the bodega, though I couldn’t blame the combined scent for why I suddenly felt dizzy.
    “I love you,” I whispered, and only his exhale into my ear kept me upright. My reaction was so ridiculous. He wasn’t leaving me. Us . Telling him how I felt wouldn’t bring down the wrath of God—or whomever lived upstairs—upon our heads. No curse would be unlocked if I admitted I needed him.
    “Bet that burned, huh?”
    “No. Not at all.” A small fib. “Where are you?”
    His laughter wasn’t quite even. It was then that I heard the sounds behind him. Glasses clinking, music playing, voices. “Someplace they serve alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.”
    I started rushing up the street, weaving around the pedestrians. Tray never drank to excess. I had literally never seen him drink more than one beer at a time in the eight months we’d been together. “You’re not driving,” I stated, though I remembered quite well that Carly had said he’d taken his keys.
    “Right now? I’m peeling the label off my beer and fending off chicks. Did you know that apparently I’m a catch?”
    Earlier this year, my skin would’ve chilled at the idea of my boyfriend drunk off his ass in the center of a pack of salivating females. Now I just rolled my eyes. He wasn’t going to cheat on me. In my lucid moments, I knew that right down to the ground.
    Too bad I didn’t have more of them.
    “A catch, huh?” I descended the steps to the subway. I didn’t know where Tray was yet, but it was a good guess I’d need to take a train to get there once he coughed up his location. “I doubt any of them