But either the guy doesn’t piss, or he’s some kind of super-paranoid Mob boss because he doesn’t leave the guys he’s with once. I’m assuming they’re some kind of security, but if they are, they’re pretty shit at their job—and that’s coming from me! I’ve had approximately seventy chances to pop him through the head, and they’re very lucky that this guy is more important to me alive than dead.

I pace across the low roof of the CVS next door to Yanni’s club. Like Saint Clare’s, they have a small courtyard behind their building, only this one isn’t as clean, smells strongly of weed that barely overpowers the smell of dumpster, and has definitely seen a dead body or two in its day.

I pace back to the other side of the rooftop and lower into a crouch. My busy day of trailing this guy like a detective in a crime movie has eaten into my time and thoughts to the point that I’ve been sufficiently distracted from what I overheard earlier. But now, waiting on Yanni’s reply, all the things I pushed out of my brain are pushing back in.

No matter how much I remind myself that I’ve only known St. Clare for a short time and that the time we’ve had hasn’t always been great, it doesn’t make my heart hurt any less. He fills me with so many good, shivery feelings, and all I want when he’s around is to have his attention. I crave it. Need it. When it’s me and him, this burst of warmth fills me so completely that sometimes I think I’ve died because nothing on Earth could feel that good.

Just like I’m not so sure I’ve ever felt this bad.

Because all of that warmth was blinding me to the fact that they were using me.

I mean, fair, I’d probably use me too.

It’s not like my life is all that important, and arguably, Colin has done a lot more impressive things in roughly the same amount of time that I’ve been unimpressive, but maybe I haven’t peaked yet? Maybe I’d like the chance to be impressive. Not going to get that chance if I’m handed over to a crime lord, now am I?

Plus, if I’m traded for another guy—even St. Clare’s brother—I really will have to put a stop to the orgasms. A guy has to have some level of self-respect, and I think that’s the limit I have for myself. No more hot sex. No more having St. Clare look at me in that indulgent way, like he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry at my stupidity, no more getting to tug his body close and feel like it belongs.