It Isn't About Love," Vee

Anthony Raised His Red Plastic Cup To Me And Shouted Something, But It Was Too Hard To Hear Over The Music. “what?” I Called Back. “you Look Great!” A Goofy Smile Was Plastered On His Face. “oh Boy,” Vee Said. “not Just A Pimp, But A Smashed Pimp.” “so Maybe He’s A Little Drunk.” “drunk And Hoping To Corner You Alone In A Bedroom Upstairs.” Ugh.

I Wrinkled My Nose, Trying To Figure Out What He Smelled Like. Not Cigarettes. Something Richer, Fouler. Cigars.

You Picked The Seats You Did For A Reason, Right? Familiarity. Too Bad The Best Sleuths Avoid Familiarity. It Dulls The Investigative Instinct.

How Does This Whole Guardian Angel Business Work? Am I The Only Person Who Can See You? I Mean, Are You Invisible To Everyone Else?" Patch Stared At Me Like He Hoped I Wasn't Serious. "you're Not Invisible?" I Squeaked. "you Have To Get Out Of Here!" I Made A Movement To Push Patch Off The Bed But Was Cut Short By A Searing Jab In My Ribs. "she'll Kill Me If She Finds You In Here. Can You Climb Trees? Tell Me You Can Climb A Tree!" Patch Grinned. "i Can Fly." Oh. Right. Well, Okay.

I Could Get You To Smile Like That, And Without Sales Tax.