He smiled, the corners of his mouth quirking a little. “It’s pretty cute. Wanna stamp your foot, too?”
“Yes. Into your crotch.”
He drummed his fingertips against the inside of my wrist, making me shiver a little. “You’re cheating,” I said. “You can’t do that. I’m mad at you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Am I? Is this cheating, too?” He started to pull me to him and gently pressed his mouth against my shoulder, working his way up my neck.
“Such a cheater,” I murmured. “Okay, stop, stop,” I added when he started to kiss the spot just under my ear, the spot that he knew made me crumble faster than anything. “Jesse, seriously, we’re on the street. That guy by the fruit stand is staring at us.”
He gave me one last kiss before pulling away reluctantly. “Forgiven?”
“Perhaps. On one condition: you buy the coffee.”
“All men should be so lucky to have these terms,” he replied, then took my hand and laced our fingers together.
It was all I could do not to bury my smile against his shoulder.
At the coffeehouse, Jesse waited in line while I reserved a space for us on the bench outside. The city was teeming with people and kids and dogs and I watched from my perch, knees drawn up to my chest.
That’s when I saw the man again.
He was the same one who had been watching Jesse and me from the fruit stand. At the time, I had thought he was just a creeper, but he circled the block twice in front of Joe’s, walking with purpose, but not enough to seem noticeable, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Black T-shirt, black jeans, Converse sneakers, nothing distinguishable.
Which, in New York City, made him very noticeable to me.
When Jesse came back outside with our coffee, I stood up. “Let’s walk instead,” I said, holding on to the crook of his elbow. “We don’t get enough exercise.”
“What are you talking about? I have soccer practice three hours a day. And we never get to sit on the bench. Someone’s always parked here. Remember the time that Philip Seymour Hoffman wouldn’t leave?”
“It’s really nice out. C’mon, late summer, the heat wave is over. Let’s stroll.” I had clearly been spending way too much time with Angelo, but there was no way I was going to be a sitting duck while some suspicious guy orbited around me.
Jesse eventually agreed (not before giving me a huge, world-weary sigh, though), and we headed west on Waverly, exactly the direction that the man had headed in not two minutes earlier. “So,” Jesse said, handing me my iced coffee. “Have you talked to Angelo lately?”
“I have,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “He says hello.”
“Oh, cool, cool. Tell him I said hi.” I could tell that Jesse was putting the same amount of effort into keeping his voice light, too. “How is he?”
“Fine.”
“Good.” Jesse cleared his throat, then took a sip of his blended drink. “Did he, um, say anything? Like, interesting or useful?”
I glanced up at Jesse. “You are terrible at this.”
“We can’t all be spies, Mags,” he said. “I’m trying my best here.”
I laughed with him as we both crossed the street. “Yes, Angelo did have something interesting to tell me. And no, I can’t tell you.”
“Damn.”
“That’s why Roux got upset. Because I wouldn’t tell her anything. See, you weren’t listening!” I playfully slugged him in the shoulder and he pretended to wince.
“Nothing, though? We’re pretty trustworthy, right? We’ve proven ourselves.”
“Of course I trust you.” I sipped at my coffee as I dodged an open restaurant basement door. “I just don’t want you to know anything because it makes you liable.”
“You mean like if we get tortured for information?”
I stopped dead in my tracks. “Jess, don’t even joke about that.”
“Are you serious? That could really be a thing?”
I didn’t want to think about the boatload of problems that could have happened if Jesse and Roux had too much information. “Look,” I told him. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, okay? Believe me, I want to tell you everything. I just don’t want to risk anything. Last time was …”
“An aberration?” Jesse offered.
“Yes. Wow. Good word.”
“It’s all that summer reading.”
“Well, either way, it’s not happening again. I’m not letting anyone shoot at you, chase you, or even—”
But I stopped myself when I saw the same man walk down the other side of the street. It was official: he was walking in circles. Large circles, to be fair, but circles nonetheless.
“Let’s go this way instead,” I told Jesse, spinning on my heel and making a sharp right onto Grove Street. “View’s better.”
“Why? What’d you just see?”
“Nothing.”
“Maggie? I may be a bad spy, but you’re a terrible liar.”
I rolled my eyes, but he was right. Everyone said so. “I just thought I saw someone.”
“Someone like … ?”
“I just thought someone was tailing me. Or us. Probably me. I don’t know. He’s been walking in circles for the past five minutes.”
Jesse looked around us, which I thought was pretty cute of him. “What does he look like? Do you want me to kick his ass?”