Nero - Page 145

And if he gets to keep my undies, then I get to keep this sweatshirt. Except when he gets home, I’m going to make him wear it for a few days so the next time he leaves I have something that smells like him.

“Alright, Payton,” Robert calls from his place next to one of the big black SUVs. “You’re back here.” He opens the rear driver’s side door.

I follow his direction and climb up, buckling myself in after he shuts the door.

I have my phone tucked into my hoodie pocket, along with a twenty-dollar bill I still had stashed in my wallet. I doubt they’ll let me pay for my drink, but I didn’t want to just assume that someone else would pay for it.

Robert opens the front passenger door the same time as a man I only know as Giles, climbs into the driver’s seat. I say hello, but he just grunts a reply.

When I see another pair of security guys getting into a second SUV, I start to feel a little bad. I didn’t mean for this to become a whole two-vehicle, four-man ordeal. I just wanted some fresh air. Figuratively speaking, because I doubt they’ll let me roll my window down. Robert probably has the kid locks on.

The engines rumble to life as the garage door starts to roll up, and my time for second guessing is over, because we’re leaving.

It’s no real surprise that we drive in silence. But it doesn’t bother me. I watch the landscape go by, taking it all in.

When I first got here, it was late, dark, and I was exhausted from the birthday party disaster and subsequentphysical activitiesin my apartment. So, I didn’t get to appreciate the neighborhood.

The trees are large, the leaves that are left are fiery shades of red and orange, and from standing in the doorway whenever Toto goes out, I know it’s cold. Right at that tipping point of freezing. But the bright blue skies and shining sun trick you into thinking it’s warm past the windows.

We wind our way out of the vast development, gliding past estate after estate, each one as stunning as the last. Feels so surreal that this is where I live now.

Eventually we end up on a street that I recognize as one that will take us into the city.

I expect Giles to turn toward Minneapolis, the skyline sparkling off to the right, but he turns the other way, following the other SUV and taking us toward the closest suburb.

Makes sense when I think about it. It’s probably the smart choice for security reasons, rather than going to the crowded downtown area.

My fingers absently trace a pattern on my thigh. This might be one of the weirdest moments of my life, riding in an armed two-car caravan just to go get coffee. But even with the weird, I’m actually feeling like myself again.

I love Nero. And I love the life we’re creating together. It’s just a lot of change. And, in my personal experience, change has always been bad. Usually awful. Definitely hard. So even though I’m happy with these new changes, it’s a lot to take in. And being out here, I feel a little bit normal. A little like my old self.

“Copy.” Giles’s voice startles me.

When I look up front, I see the vehicle ahead of us pull into the drive-thru lane, rounding the back corner of the brick building and moving out of sight. But we don’t follow. Instead, we stay stopped at the entrance to the drive-thru.

Robert turns in his seat to look at me. “Do you know what you want?”

I nod, having recognized the coffee bean and crescent moon logo on the front of the coffeeshop. “Are the other guys ordering it?”

He shakes his head. “They’ll drive past the pick-up window and wait at the far end. That way we can’t get blocked in.”

My mouth opens in a silent O as guilt swamps me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know this was gonna be such a big deal.”

At least it’s late afternoon and I don’t see any other cars trying to get in line.

“This is the job.” Robert shrugs off my apology. “And it’s good to keep the guys in practice.”

Giles grunts again, this time in agreement. But instead of feeling better, I feel a little bit worse.

“Taking some lady to coffee probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you did all your training.”

Robert chuckles. “You’re not justsome lady. You’re the boss’s lady.”

“Doesn’t make it any less boring.”

“It’s not boring at all,” he argues. “It’s the nature of the job. You’re either doing nothing or you’re fighting for your life.”

I grimace. “Sounds awful.”