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Websites with flames, guys in hoods, green letters on black backgrounds
came up and disappeared.
“Rehearsals. The spring production’s Cats. She’s Grizelda. Been
hearing Memories for weeks already.” He paused to scroll. “You coming?”
“Of course. Get me a ticket.”
“Boom.” Amilcar held out his hand at another website I couldn’t make
heads or tails of. “God bless the dark web.”
“Does he have it?”
“In his fucking couch cushions, lady.”
I clapped once. “Awesome.”
“You’re not marrying him or anything are you?”
Amilcar’s instincts were finely tuned. I should have known he’d get it
on the first guess.
“Who knows what the future holds?”
He shook his head, part impressed part dissatisfied. “So you’re dating.”
“It’s a long story,” I said. “But it’s a short story too, so I wanted to make
sure he has what he says he has. Not that it matters. I just… well, why I
wanted to know about the money is the long story part. And I can’t tell you,
so don’t ask. You just have to trust me.”
“Trust but verify. Your judgment sucks. I want to meet him.”
“If we get married, you will.”
“Before that. I want to give him a look over. Sniff his ass out. Make sure
he’s not some kinda rapist, or like, I don’t know. Whatever.”
“Okay. You give me your first impression. I’d like that.”
“Hope it’s worth it,” Amilcar said. “Whatever it is you need stupid
money for.”
I threw my arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek, but I didn’t
tell him I was selling my hand in marriage for stupid money.
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