My right hand was itching—” “An itch is the reason you acted a mess?” I fix my would-be nemesis with a stare. “It’s something we believe back home,” Madison says. “If your right hand is itchy, an old acquaintance will cross your path.” “What about the left?” I must be buzzed if I’m entertaining tales about unlotioned hands. A high-arched brow lifts. “Money is on the way.”
