“Jesus, woman!” his head whips over, eyes doing a split-second scan of me and our surroundings. “Sorry,” I squeak. “Either with your body or your outbursts, you’re bound to kill me with a fucking heart attack.” I want to laugh, but he sounds so put out, I don’t dare. His eyes slide back over to me, “You gonna tell me what that was all about?” “Oh, right!” I perk up. “Are you the Axel of Axel’s Bodyshop.” I can tell he’s surprised by the way his posture shifts, “Don’t tell me you’ve been there?” “Oh, um, I don’t think so. Why? Do you not want me to?” Just asking that sends a dull throb into my
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