ONCE I'M OUTSIDE OF the library and safely in my car surrounded by guys on motorcycles who could end the greasy-haired man's life easily if he tried to screw around with them, I shoot Sinclair a quick text telling him that I have something important to tell him before I drive off with all of the guys trailing behind me. About thirty minutes into my hour drive home, I get a text from Sinclair and, after making sure that the only vehicles on the road were mine and the bikes behind me, I slow down and check the message to see Sinclair telling me he'll come by my place to see me at around seven and he's asking me to make alfredo.
I do an annoyed groan and decide that I'll have to stop by the grocery store before I go home. Today is Wednesday after all and after all the time he's been spending
