‘Someone definitely peddled you some bullshit on that one.’ J.T. chose to ignore him. Why should today be different from any other day, Tim though...? ‘I mean, I see the degree on your wall,’ J.T. said, striding into Tim’s small-ish office and stopping by the Doctorate in Sports Psychology degree he’d received from N.C. State, which he’d framed and hung on the wall between movie posters from Die Hard and Lethal Weapon 3. J.T. pretended to study it – Tim pretended to listen to him. ‘And I know. A doctorate in being hot. Honorary degree in worming her way into guy’s minds. The tenant of any man’s wet dreams – occasionally late with the rent but impossible to evict. All green eyes and wavy blond hair. She was golden. I stop by the house to change jackets and put Sully’s cache into a safe place before heading out. The phone rings again. ‘Domino’s.’ ‘Charlie? It’s Jason.’ Jason. Jason was a semi-rival dealer from the West End. We’d gone to junior high together, and when he was low on. More

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