“You got this from”—I wag my head
backward—“him? Did he know it
was for me?” [You mean for Dad.]
The thought brings meager satisfaction,
especially after Grady says, Um, I might
have told him. What’s up, anyway?
I shrug. “We have a history.
And it wasn’t exactly romantic.”
[Nope, not with him. Never was.]
Grady gets down to business. Ahem.
So the eight ball is two hundred.
Are you going to share a little?
I open the bindle. Short, okay.
Bree handles the clod. “Looks to me
like you already took your cut. Yes?”
His face flares but he has to admit,
We did a couple of lines. Not much
of a finder’s fee, if you ask me.
“Not asking. Thanks for taking
care of this. Now I’ve got to run.
Mom’s on a regular rampage.”
Grady pauses a beat or two,
as if he’s got something to say.
But then he exits the car silently.
Good damn thing. Not sure
I have the cojones (or even
that I want them!) to tell the jerk
off, but Bree most definitely does.
Let her out of her box and no
telling what might happen.