“So where are the others? Scott, Yuki?”
“Believe it or not, they got hitched. Moved to Reno where they claim to be doing fabulously well, ripping off out-of-town rubes.”
“And they left you all alone to pick pockets by yourself.”
“Hey, I’m much more than that. After you blew out of town, I decided to go to school. Studied business so I could learn how to rip off the fat cats. Minored in computers, too, because you can’t get far without that these days. Then, three years ago, I joined a long-con team. The short cons were getting boring—I was tired of proposition bets in bars and card tricks on the sidewalk. The long cons are much more elaborate and exciting. I’m the team’s electronics guy—spy cameras, tracking devices, network hacks.” He let a shy grin slide onto his face. “I only pick pockets when a mark begs for it, like you did, standing there on the street looking so confused.”
He suddenly got excited and pulled out his phone. “Hey, never mind the con chat. Have you seen Alejandro’s latest video?” He started to play it for me.
I’d seen that video, at least ten times already, even though it had just come out. Hale and I always kept up with Alejandro, years ago, playing his music on the jukebox at the pizza place and dancing with abandon. I was happy to see that he was still just as devoted.
Alejandro was irresistible. His muscular build made my heart pound, often long into the night. His black wavy hair framed piercing, slate-gray eyes, a dark shadow of a beard, and incredible lips with a little bow on top that I longed to kiss. And talk about talented! Where others had good and bad years, Alejandro’s career continued to top music charts all the time—he was prolific. No Moss magazine had dubbed him “The Lord of Rock and Roll,” and he still ruled.
Even my New York friends were huge fans. Wanda, my neighbor and business partner, bonded with me over his music as soon as we met. We went to every concert he gave, and we spent way too much time watching his videos.
Even my so-called boyfriend, Roman, had liked Alejandro at one point, although he never really loved the music, and now he claimed to hate it. In fact, Roman rarely loved anything or anyone, including me. A hipster, who worked in a coffee shop when he felt like it and refused to commit to anything, he shunned labels like “boyfriend.” But since he didn’t ask too many questions, he was perfect for a woman trying to hide from her foster mother in the thick of New York City.