Carmina tapped her foot against the concrete floor with increasing impatience, squinting her eyes against the late summer sun. She glanced down at her phone for the third time in as many minutes.

No messages. Seriously?

She’d been waiting for an hour. A whole hour. She’d made sure to get off work at the record store early, used the tiny break room to touch up her make-up and fix her hair, all so she could be ready and waiting by the mall entrance.

For the guy who had been begging her to go out with him for the past three weeks. The guy who’d told her he’d pick her up. The guy who wasn’t here.

“I swear to god, if he doesn’t answer his damn phone in the next five minutes...” she mumbled to herself as she dialed his number again, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. She’d left her usual basecap at home on account of looking date-ready and now she was just annoyed.

Just as she lifted the phone to her ear to listen to the familiar dial tone, her eyes widened.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

Right there, getting out of his car with a leggy blonde on his arm, was Carmina’s date. Or possibly her first murder victim, she hadn’t decided yet. She felt that familiar flare of temper burn behind her ribcage, the kind that usually meant she was about to start yelling.

So instead she stumbled back a bit to hide in the shadows and scrolled down to her most-called contact, all but punching her thumb onto the screen.

Your name.

By the time she spotted your car pulling into the parking lot, Carmina had calmed down. Somewhat. A little. She marched towards it, yanked open the door and sank into the familiar seat with a frown that promised thunder.

“Here’s the plan – you hold him down and I start punching.”

Okay, so maybe she was still pissed.