A Million Dollar Deal
I glanced up, and there was Tommy—blond hair flopping over his forehead, that too-wide grin he always wore like it was glued on—carrying a plastic grocery bag that looked suspiciously heavy.
“Hey, Sophie,” he said, rocking on his heels.
I straightened up, my lower back giving a small, protesting pop.
Oh shit.
“Tommy,” I said, wiping dirt onto my Levi's.
“Is that a peace offering, or are you finally delivering that homemade bomb you’ve been threatening the HOA with?”
He laughed—too loud, too eager.
“Nah, it's a gift. From Chase. He just got back from the coast. Thought you’d like some fresh crustaceans. Crabs, shrimp, the good stuff.”
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