The cooks wouldn’t be working yet at the hostess bar, and he hadn’t had much sleep again. When he’d picked up Lara last night, she’d been drunk and madder than a cornered barracuda. Mostly she was pissed at him for standing her up for dinner, but he had the feeling there was more to the story. He’d spent the night on the sofa, neck cricked at one end, feet hanging over the other. He left before she was up this morning, and that wasn’t going to please her, either. His father seemed to take the stop at Starbucks in stride. “You want anything?” Ryan asked before he got out of the car. “Sure, I’ll take one of those green tea lattes,” Tagama answered, and rolled down his window to wait in the car. That’s a first, reflected Ryan, right before the barista took his order. He ordered two blueberry scones to go. Tagama was eating the scone with gusto when his mobile phone rang.
