“Oh, I almost forgot” — Alana opens her purse — “this is yours.” She hands over the wad of cash we won earlier today.
“No.” I put my hand up in protest. “You keep it.”
Alana sighs. “I’m going to say this, and it’s not meant to be snotty or stuck-up. You work two jobs, I volunteer. You should keep it.”
I clench my jaw, warring with myself. I really don’t want to take it, but she’s right. I work two jobs for a reason. “Fine, I’ll take it. Under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“I can spend it on you.”
“You can spend it on whatever you want. It’s yours.” She smirks then slides out of the front seat and closes the door.
It’s fucking official. I’m a dead man.