Low (Low #1) by Mary Elizabeth

Author:Mary Elizabeth [Elizabeth, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, New Adult
Published: 2016-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

I PASS THE newspaper to Poesy and watch her sip her steaming coffee while her eyes move across the lines of the front-page report of our wrongdoings. A grainy black and white surveillance photo of me holding the gun toward the teller booths is included beneath the text.

“This doesn’t mean much, Lowen. They don’t have leads, and that picture is blurry. It could be anyone.” Poe tosses the paper atop the money on the table and lifts her legs under her body.

Up with the sun and shirtless, I lean against the couch and rub my hands over my freshly shaven head. Itching anticipation of what the new day would bring left me awake all night while my girl slept like the dead, snoring and warm alongside my body. I stole the Tuesday morning edition of the LA Times from Fradil’s doorstep and didn’t breathe when I read the bold headline.

“They know to look for two people and not one. They know you’re a woman, and they know I’m white,” I say, tilting my head back and staring at the popcorn ceiling.

“Wow,” Poe replies sarcastically, theatrically widening her eyes. “That describes us perfectly … a white man and woman. It’s almost like they know us.”

“This isn’t a game, Poesy. If we get caught, I will spend the rest of my life in prison, and you’ll—” I stop, unable to say the words aloud. Death would be sweeter than living with the knowledge that my girl is locked up in some dank cell.

I close my eyes and swallow thick spit as a mixture of anticipation and terror spins in my stomach like a whirlwind.

“There’s whiskey in my coffee. Want some?” ignorance asks, kicking my leg with her bare foot. Poe has puffy eyes and sleep lines indented along the left side of her face. Her pink nipples are visible under the thin white T-shirt she wore to bed, and her hair is tangled and stringy.

“I’ll find a way to get in contact with my old celly,” I say, shifting my gaze toward the picture on the paper. “Just in case.”

“Orlando is supposed to be awesome this time of year,” Poesy singsongs. Alcohol smacks a lush-like grin across her face, and her long lashes blink lazily.

“Why are you not taking this seriously?” I ask, shoving the newspaper from the table. Pages come apart and sail across the living room, leaving behind the scent of ink and rubber.

“Why are you not accepting what we are, Lowen?” she counters, lifting her tone of voice. “How long do you plan to hide in this hellhole with the roaches, pretending to be something you’re not?”

“A life like this will get us killed, Poesy,” I say between tight teeth, dropping my face in my hands.

My girl sets her empty mug down and crawls behind me. Her small hands glide along my spine and slip over my shoulders, scattering goose bumps down my arms and numbing the tips of my fingers. She presses her chest against my bare skin, soothing my anxiety with warm comfort and chasing away my edginess with soft regard.

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