“Damn, she told you,” Jordan says, smirking, amusement in his voice. Lovely. They’re double-teaming me. I side-eye the kid and look at Sabrina again. “Where are you going?” I yell after her. “Outside to wait on Armstrong,” she says. “Where else?” “Brina, wait, don’t—” I start. “Miss Bristol,” she says, sharp as a knife. “Doghouse!” Jordan quips behind me.
bahaa
