My legs itch and ache, and I have to move. I turn my back to my window and let my feet carry me to the kitchen, where I turn on the espresso maker. I have a feeling I won’t get any more sleep tonight.
David sighs in my ear. “I understand why you’re suspicious, I do. But…I just need you to take my word for it and get your ass over here.”
I make sure there’s water in the container, slip a pod into the machine, and press the button. Not taking my eyes off the tar-colored liquid pouring from the spout, I rub my knuckles over my chest again, hissing as I manage to snag a tuft of my fur between my fingers.
“You there?” he asks.
I grunt an affirmative answer, grab the coffee cup with fingers that are too thick for it, and down the espresso as though it is a shot of whiskey. Too bad it isn’t. “Where are you?”
“Memorial. I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
* * * *