More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Yo, love!” he shouted after her. Her feet stopped moving, and she looked back. “I dig the shirt. You should go back to wherever you got it from and cop another one,” he said. It was his shirt. A shirt she’d gotten from his loft because she didn’t have clothes there.
He hated that women did this. Compared. Measured.
Ms. Marilyn was the real gangster between them.

