Eve & Adam (Eve & Adam 1)

e thinks about me. She still cares about me.

I’m not as good a friend as she is.

“So … your mom?” she manages.

I shrug. My stomach is churning; my head is fuzzy. I’ve been reacting to Adam, not even thinking. What is the matter with me? Solo’s busy destroying my mother and I’m sighing over Adam.

It’s just that he’s so … perfect.

I’m so confused.

“Aislin,” I say, “there’s something I have to tell you. Show you. Someone.”

“Okay. Do you have any Kleenex on you?”

I grab a couple napkins from the dispenser. “It can wait,” I say. “You’ll see, soon enough.”

Suddenly someone sits down in one of the spare chairs. It’s rude, so I shoot the interloper a chilling look.

He’s a good-looking twenty-something Asian guy. He doesn’t smile. He’s wearing a green leather jacket. It takes a few seconds before I realize that I’ve seen him before. In Golden Gate Park.

The blood drains from Aislin’s face.

“Get out of here, you piece of crap” she snarls.

The guy looks at her, vaguely interested and not at all intimidated. He crosses his arms on the table and leans forward.

“I don’t suppose either of you ladies has a spare twelve thousand dollars, do you?”

“It’s nine,” I say.

“It was nine.” He makes a sort of sympathetic shrug. “Interest rates are high.”

“Actually,” I say with all the superior condescension I can manage, “the prime rate is quite low.”

It’s an amazingly stupid thing to say, but he takes it in stride. “We’re not the Fed. Our rates are higher.”

He sees my surprise. “Yeah, I know, I’m a thug so I must be unintelligent and uneducated. Truth is, I do work with some people who are like that. But I’m three credits away from a business degree.”

“Then you should be smart enough to find another job,” I snap.

He laughs, but his laugh is one of those silent ones. “Yeah, if my mom was a billionaire I’d probably feel that way, too. You know what the unemployment rate is for guys my age?”

I don’t. I have the feeling he does.

“I don’t have any money,” I say.

“Well, that’s just a matter of time,” he says. “Maddox had the money, didn’t he? Which means he got it from you. Right? Girlfriend here doesn’t have it, so it came from you.” He shrugs and leans back. “Go get some more. Twelve large to Terra Spiker is like a quarter to me.” He digs change out of his tight jeans, finds a quarter, holds it up between thumb and forefinger. “That’s what twelve grand is to your mom.”

“My mother has—” I begin.

“But you know what twelve grand is to Maddox? It’s life, that’s what it is. Life itself.”

The strange thing is that his dark eyes aren’t cold or without feeling. He seems compassionate. Almost as if he cares.

Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill Maddox.

Answering my silent question, he says, “I hate to see things end that way. You know how I’d like things to end? You meet me tonight—I’ll text you the location—and you hand me a bag with thirteen thousand dollars in it.”