Takedown Teague (Caged #1)(9)

I laughed at my own joke.

“Very funny,” she snapped back. “I’m not overly…coordinated.”

We walked the next block in silence. I felt kind of bad for picking on her, so I tried another approach.

“So what are you studying?”

“Economics.”

“Really?” I narrowed one eye at her.

“Why is that so surprising?” she asked, obviously displeased with my reaction.

“I dunno,” I responded with a shrug. “Just not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Um…teaching? Maybe nursing or physical therapy—something like that.”

“Why, because I’m a woman?”

“Uh…um…” I didn’t really know how to respond to that. I wasn’t really sure why I thought she would say something else; economics just didn’t seem to fit. “Well, why economics?”

“Because I don’t understand why some people have a ton of money and others don’t have anything,” she said simply. “It doesn’t have anything to do with how hard they work. I thought if I learned more about it, it would help me understand.”

I laughed again.

“I’m not a comedian,” she growled. “Stop laughing at me.”

“I’m not.” I shook my head. “I mean, I am, but…not like that. It’s just…weird.”

“I am not weird!” she yelled as she stopped in her tracks and snarled at me. “It makes perfect sense, and maybe you have just been hit in the head too many times to understand anything other than punching people, but I really don’t see how your opinion ought to matter to me!”

“Whoa!” I called out, stopping and turning to face her and holding my hands up in surrender. “Easy there! I just…shit…I just never heard of anyone wanting to study something like that. It’s cool.”

Her look softened but remained wary, so I turned it around on her.

“And now you have insulted me,” I told her.

“What? How?”

“I have not been hit in the head too many times—I f*cking win.”

I grinned at her before I started walking across the street. She rolled her eyes again, but continued on beside me. We were quiet now with her speaking up only when we made a turn to the right and crossed another dark street.

“This is my street,” she said.

I felt an odd tingle run through my arms but didn’t respond.

Tria stopped in front of a three-story apartment building with faded brown paneling that tried to give it some sort of Tudor flair but failed miserably. There was a barred door painted black with one of those keypad security systems attached to it. The windows on the ground floor also had bars though the ones higher up didn’t. I glanced up the fire escape stairs next to the door and saw a black-haired girl swinging her legs and smoking a cigarette. The ash flicked out into the air and landed beside me on the chipped sidewalk.

“This is where you live?” I tried to stop from smiling too much. I mean, what were the odds?

“Yes,” she said. Her tone was dark. “It’s not as bad as it looks from the outside.”

“Heh.” I snorted. “Yes, it is.”

I reached forward and gave the barred door a good yank. It opened immediately, even without entering a code or anything. Bullshit security system hadn’t worked in at least eight months. Tria kind of glanced at me sideways as I held it open and made a grand gesture with my arm.

“After you,” I said.

“It’s supposed to be a secure building,” she said. “They said they were going to be getting that fixed soon.”

“Yep,” I replied, “that’s what they tell ya.”

“I’m not really supposed to let anyone inside the building.” She looked off to the side, like she was afraid to send me away while looking me in the eye.

I chuckled.

“You aren’t home yet,” I told her. “I said I would walk you home.”

“It’s just inside,” she said.

“First floor?”

“Yes.”

“What number?”

Her jaw tensed and she continued to look away from me. It looked like she was focusing on a stack of broken up pieces of brick lying in a haphazard pile near the entrance to the apartments. She glanced up at me before blowing out a big gust of breath.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Come on in.”

Tria led me to the fourth door on the right, which had faded, not-really-brass numbers tacked up on it. Number 142.

I laughed in one quick burst.

“You live here?”

“Yes,” she said as she fished around in her purse for keys.

I had been wondering if my nights were going to be a little quieter, and now I had my answer. I chuckled softly to myself.

“Why is that funny?”

I shook my head as she glared at me.

I started to consider the reasons it was funny, but the reasons that all of this was not funny popped into my head instead. They were especially obvious as she continued to fumble around for her keys with her head practically buried in her monstrous over-the-shoulder bag.

I mean, she had just led a perfect stranger—hero or not—right to her door.