So I leave.
Hana is in bed, in her own room, when I get home after a walk that left me both calmer and more confused. I don’t know what I want from Phoebe, and I’m too tired to think about it.
I’m brushing my teeth when a text comes in.
Jihoon:I miss you.
I rinse before I reply:Did you have fun with Hana?
Jihoon:I love Hana. I wish you had come with us to enjoy the day you planned.
Me:Work.
Jihoon:Do you want to come over?
Me:To your place?
Jihoon:Yes.
Moment of truth. If I go over there, the implication of what will happen is clear. I will sleep with Jihoon or at a minimum get to the base that’s after kissing but before sex.
Whatever unit of time is faster than a nanosecond is what it takes me to decide.
Me:Yes.
Worrying about explaining to Hana that I’m hooking up with her beloved cousin who is leaving the country soon is a job for later. I slip on some clothes and grab a condom so I’m prepared for any decision. I reconsider and grab one more condom before I collect my keys, feeling a bit like I’m sneaking out. Well, I guess I am. My heart races as I pull the door open slow enough to prevent any giveaway squeaks or creaks.
Then all my planning gets shot to hell as I slam the door shut with a scream. Because two men dressed in black and wearing baseball caps and face masks are standing inches in front of me, hands outstretched.
Eighteen
Hana stumbles out of her room clutching the protection bat she keeps by her bed. “What? What is it?” she yells. Then she blinks. “Why are you dressed and going out at this time of night?”
A polite knock comes at the door, and I back up as Hana moves forward, bat at the ready. “There are two men outside,” I whisper.
“Who?”
“I don’t know! I didn’t ask. Why would any men be there? Jihoon is in the Mob, isn’t he?”
Hana drops the bat and scrambles to grab it. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course Jihoon isn’t in the Mob.”
I barely listen. “I bet his goon name is Honey Thighs Choi.”
“His name is not Honey Thighs.”
“Hoonie Thighs, then.”
Before she can answer, we hear another door open down the hall and a series of shocked exclamations. Hana drops the bat. “Jihoon’s talking to them,” she reports, hand cupped over her ear. “They’re Korean.”
“What, like that excludes them from being assassins?”
“As if assassins are going to come for you,” she scoffs. “Why bother when they can wait for your job to kill you instead?”
“Not the time, Hana, seriously.”
There’s a mumble of voices from the hall, and she glues her ear to the door, eyes widening. “Jihoon’s friends have come to visit.”
“From theMob. No wonder he wears a mask everywhere.”