34
NINE
When I was fifteen, I’d made it a goal in life to learn something new every day. Mostly, I managed it, even if lately that knowledge had come in the form of a more complicated crochet stitch or the difference between pony beads and perlers.
Today, I’d learned three things.
Firstly, I’d learned that golf sucked.
Secondly, I’d learned that when Alex touched me, I went into atrial fibrillation.
Thirdly, and perhaps most interestingly, I’d learned that Blok Novak wasn’t just an asshole, he was likely to be a double agent too.
At some point between the eighth and eighteenth holes, Emmy had gone through “channels,” and due to the exceptional circumstances and President Harrison’s improving relationship with President Markovich, the Russians were apparently offering unprecedented l
