Not sure how to answer, I remain silent, but one look at my face and Twitch smirks darkly. “Of course it is.” Stalking towards me, he asks along the way, “Let me ask you this? How would you label me?” My heart begins to race and I swallow hard. His eyes flash, “Psychotic? Hmm? I don’t know, maybe insane? Mad? You tell me, Lexi. What the fuck would you label me as?”
Terrifying. Disturbed. And frightening.
Gritting his teeth, he catches my chin in his hand. “You label yourself all you want, Alexa.” Dropping his hand, he looks at me a moment, and what I see displayed on his face makes me want to throw up.
Disappointment. He’s disappointed in me.
Turning, he picks up his tee from the sofa and opens the front door. Pausing a moment and keeping his back to me, he says lividly, “Do not fucking label me.” His fists ball by his sides as he extends his parting words. “Think on this, girl.” Spinning around, his eyes – full of fury – meet mine. “Who were you before people started telling you who you should be?”
And then he’s gone.
My office door opens, and Michael strolls in. Making himself comfortable in the guest chair, he puts his feet on the desk. I snap my fingers in warning. The feet come down.
That’s better.
He sighs, “Give me something to do, boss. I’m bored.”
I sniff, “Bored? Here? Get Happy to give you something to do. Or Li—” on second thought, “Not Ling.”
After working with me for over a month now, Michael’s fear of me has dimmed to almost nothing at all.
Almost.
I think he sees me more of a big brother now. Which is cool by me. I always wanted a brother. And if I had a brother in this life, I’d want him to be like Michael. It became clear to me weeks ago that Michael was smarter than even I’d given him credit for. When he approached my office one morning and asked straight out, “Are you a drug dealer?”
I stared him down. Much to my surprise, he didn’t shrink back. Not even an inch. I was impressed. I answered, “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
He scoffed, “So that’s a fancy way of saying yes.” When I didn’t respond, he said, “I could do drops, you know? I’ve done ‘em before when I worked for Hamid. I know the ins and outs, so I wouldn’t get busted. I wouldn’t disappoint you.”
“You never do, Mickey, but no. That’s not happening. I don’t need any more runners. You’re here because you’re working legit.”
He muttered, “Like you can talk.”
I smirked. He sure got my number down.
Turning to the boy, I ask, “What’s up?”
He grumbled, “Nothing.” If the boy wanted to tell me, he would. So I let it go. As soon as I start typing again, he blurts out, “There’s this girl.”
Of course there is. There’s always a girl. “You seeing this sparrow?”
Shaking his head, he utters, “No. I don’t want to ask her out ‘til I’ve got myself sorted.”
“You look pretty sorted to me, youngin. Got a job, going to school, earning some cash, and doing that all while looking for a place to stay when you turn eighteen.” I raise a brow at him. “I’d say you’re good to go.”
He smiles softly. “Yeah.” Then a firmer, “Yeah, I guess so.” I watch him closely. I see the courage bloom in his eyes and fight my own smile. “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna ask her out.”
My lip twitches and I nod at him in approval.
Suddenly, he turns to me. “How exactly do I do that?”
I laugh on the inside.
The kid is toast.
The door to my office bursts open. “I’m gonna ask her out!”
Looking up, I see Michael looking snazzy in black slacks and a white shirt, with his sleeves rolled up and wearing black thin suspenders. He looks so much like Twitch, it’s scary. Minus the tattoos and all.
Narrowing my eyes, I point at his choice of ensemble. He looks down at himself and mutters, “Mr. T said to dress nice.”
Why does this not surprise me?
I mutter to myself, “Of course he did.” Quickly finishing my paragraph, I look up at him and grin. “You look so handsome. Like a mini-Twitch.” He rolls his eyes and I fight the urge to laugh. “Who are you going to ask out, sweetie?”
“Tahlia.”
Oh wow!
My heart swells.
I’m so giddy at the thought of Michael and Tahlia together. Both came from a less-than-stellar upbringing. They would totally get each other. And I know for a fact that Tahlia has a crush on Michael. When I called her last to check on her, she asked about him about three times.
Eyes wide, I lean over my desk a little and mock whisper, “Oh-em-gee! That’s so exciting! How are you going to ask?”
His smile falters. “I-I was just going to ask. Mr. T said to be up front, but not in her face. Just ask, but not give her an option to say no.”
I want to crow with laughter. He went to Twitch for dating advice? Oh dear God. I have to fix this. And quick.
Quelling down the insane urge to cackle, I start, “Honey, no. If you don’t ask her right, it could ruin the whole experience.” His eyes widen in fear, and I sigh, “Where do you plan on taking her?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. The movies or some sh-place.”
I groan, then whine, “Michael! You have to have the date planned beforehand so you can give her the details when she says yes.”
His brows rise. “She’ll say yes?”