“I’m worried about you, Aggie.” He glanced down at her jeans, eyes lingering purposefully on the holes and blood. “I think you’re in trouble.”

“Trouble? No. Not at all.”

“You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday.” Sam quirked one eyebrow up and stared at her until she squirmed. “And where’s your coat?”

As if the weather conspired with him, a gale made her shiver. “I’m wearing my c-coat.”

“That isn’t a coat, not for December!” Sam threw up his hands and let them fall again in an exaggerated sigh. “Look, whatever you’re going through, you can talk to me.”

He might have been right. Sam was the only human on God’s green earth who would believe her story. But that would make him involved. When he found out she needed help, he’d want to find Bayer too. And that just wouldn’t work.

Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to spill over if she didn’t make herself stop. Aggie was lost and it was so obvious even Sam could see it. How pathetic. “I wish I could.”

“But you think you can’t.” He glanced through the windows of the coffee shop and then gave her a disarming smile. “It’s not the mafia, is it?”

angelhide, a divine comedy of errors

Advertisements
Quote | This entry was posted in rude writes and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

talk to me...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s