Page 13 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

RAMI

“See how using hashtags gives it that classic feel?” I ask, showing the team at Safe Harbor the post I helped them construct at the start of the meeting. “They’re coming back in a big way, and you can ride the wave of popularity for a few months before you’ll need to switch tactics.”

Suzie Flores, director of Safe Harbor’s Central Texas family shelters, sends me a relieved smile.

“I swear, we’ve tried everything to drum up interest in our fundraising drive, but this one post has already pulled more eyeballs than we’ve been able to get all month.

Seven hundred and fifty views already, and you’re not even in it! ”

Everyone chuckles because I’ve been known to make nonprofits go viral with a single post. The pool selfies are always popular, but Suzie and her team need the same numbers while keeping their shirts on, so I’ve spent the last hour sharing my current theories on how to juice the algorithm to make the biggest impact.

It’s obvious my dads gave Suzie my name—along with a sizable donation—but the team has already asked me to come back for the statewide board meeting in a couple of months, so at least they find my advice useful. Hopefully, I’ve been sensitive to their unique needs.

With that in mind, I turn to Suzie. “Given the people you serve, I’m guessing you have some security concerns with your posts.”

“You could say that.” At her dry response, everyone shifts in their seats. Makes me wonder if they’ve already had a few dangerous encounters.

I lean in, hoping they see that I’m invested in making this work for them. “What are your known threats? What, or maybe, who are you most worried about?”

As someone raised in a protective and loving home, the next few minutes are difficult to hear.

Difficult but necessary. I make no promises, but I’m for sure gonna text Uncle Jake when I’m done here.

He’s the hacker of the family and created an automatic script to flag the dangerous comments on my posts.

I’ll ask him to see what he can do to protect the staff and the people who need their services.

As we’re wrapping up, Suzie pulls me aside. “I’ve seen you on the volunteer circuit, but this is different. With the gala and now this consultation… Are you looking to open your own nonprofit?”

“What, like a nonprofit to help nonprofits?”

She lifts a shoulder. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve got a shelter for folks in recovery just down the road from here, and their fundraising is on life support. I know they’d appreciate this kind of help too.”

I haven’t fully organized my thoughts around what I want to do beyond event planning. That suggestion though… I can think of a dozen organizations off the top of my head that would be helped with a more centralized offering of support, including the community health center where Maya volunteers.

And then there’s online forums, algorithm briefs for when the social media gods get a wild hair up their asses, the occasional podcast for the old-school crowd… Hell, accredited volunteer hours if UT ever forgives the Bevo incident.

I tap out a rhythm on my bottom lip.

Huh. Oakley’s academic focus is on dangerous populations. He might have some suggestions on the mental health front, and then Mav’s already agreed to volunteer his skills with the visuals…

“Rami? Did I lose you?”

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and find Suzie looking at me with a crooked smile.

I give my apologies with a sheepish grin. “Your idea just set my brain off on a tangent.”

Maybe name it something that evokes a bright future…

She chuckles. “That’s what I like to hear. The nonprofit community could use that kind of well-funded help, and I’d be happy to help if you want to go down that path.”

“I’ll take you up on that.” I pump her hand enthusiastically. “I’ve got to get to the next thing on my calendar, but I’ll ping you later this week.”

I probably shouldn’t tell the director of Safe Harbor that stalking is the next thing on my calendar.

“Sounds like a plan,” she says with a pleased expression.

After firing off a quick message to Uncle Jake, I walk out of the Safe Harbor offices with a spring in my step and my phone in hand, spilling idea after idea into my Notes app.

Look, I get that following someone in the real world is shady as fuck, but I followed Silas’s recommendation to check out Truett’s online footprint, and the only thing I could find was his business account.

My first foray into stalking was a bust, mostly because I hadn’t considered my extensive social media following.

Last week, I followed True to the tiny house project out by Decker Lake, and even though I disguised myself with a snapback and my reading glasses, a rush of twinky teenage fans came up to me, sweetly asking for selfies.

I’d just positioned myself behind Truett and was damned lucky he hadn’t spotted me.

By the time I finished chatting with the kids and digitally signing their socials, he was nowhere to be found, and I’d learned a valuable lesson. Since then, I’ve tested different disguises and found a few simple ones I can use in the future.

Today, for example, I’m back at the tiny house build—which will be going on for a few more weeks—and I’ve upped my incognito game.

It’s not even that hard. I turn my hat backward and slip on some dudebro wraparound sunglasses along with the thinnest little mustache, and it completely changes my face.

No one’s recognized me, and now I’m… a little bored.

Keeping True in my peripherals, I pull up my notes from the last couple of weeks.

By the way, I hope no one ever finds these because anyone reading them will think I’m some unhinged protagonist in a third-rate mystery novel. Miss Marple I am not.

It’s just there are some overlapping details—like True’s off-the-cuff remark about my dads scaring the shit out of him with Sy telling me to look into them—that have made me a little curious.

Okay, more than a little curious.

Curious enough that I may have gone over to my dads’ house a few days ago and snooped around in their office. Not that I found anything interesting. Most of their shit is super dorky, and the only items of note were Dad’s service medals and a drawerful of disturbingly inventive sex toys.

I needed a bucket of brain bleach after that little discovery.

*Full body shudder*

Blech .

Actually, I also ran across Baba’s immigration documents.

He was younger than I am now, and I didn’t realize he came in on a refugee visa.

As much as he shares Iraqi food and culture with us, he’s never talked about his time there.

I have to wonder what happened that the US government actually allowed him in back then.

Even with the traumatic sex drawer discovery and Baba’s refugee status, I don’t get what True or Sy were talking about. It’s like I keep running into this wall when it comes to my dads. Weird.

Still, even though I’m being a little shady, I’m super proud of how quickly I’m picking up this skill set. I mean, yes, it took me far too long to figure out that Truett lives behind his shop in an attached apartment, but I’m getting there.

Wait. Where did he get off to? As I look around for him, my phone buzzes.

Hedy: Are you around today?

Aunt Hedy is an experimental therapist who works with my dads, and I haven’t hung out with her in a hot minute. I wonder why she’s texting me now?

Me: Actually, I’m at a tiny house build for the homeless community out by Decker Lake.

Might as well take advantage of the charity points while I can.

Hedy: Oh nice. Are you there by yourself?

My fathers’ friends love to get the details of my life.

They try to act like they’re not overly curious about who I’m dating or how my love life is going, but I know better.

This isn’t a question about whether I’m alone.

Hedy, the gossip, wants to know if I’m on a date, and there’s no way in hell I’ll ever admit to her what I’m up to now.

Me: No, I’m here alone.

Hedy: I don’t have much going on today. I could join you.

Uh, no. Thinking quickly, I type out an excuse .

Me: I’d love that, but you have to sign up, and they’ve got all the volunteers they need for today.

Me: The project has another month and a half to go, and I think this might be a good charity for the Wildlings to participate in. Maybe you can join us?

As white lies go, it isn’t bad. They really are doing amazing work here. Besides, my cousins are smart, strong, and pretty handy, and I could see us really enjoying working on this project together.

I might also be clinging to the hope that following Truett around like a lost puppy isn’t pathetic if I can give back to the community.

Hedy: That sounds awesome. Let me know when y’all go!

Me: Will do, Auntie. kiss emoji

After hitting send, I glance up to find Truett looking this way, so I dart behind a big concrete truck. Phew, that was close.

“Son, you need to move out of the way before you get flattened like a pancake,” an older man says, his drawl even more deep and pronounced than Dad’s.

The driver puts the truck in reverse, beeping in my direction. Apologizing to the back of the truck, I take a big step to the side, right into a very large spot of wet concrete that’d leaked from another truck. I curse, knowing my shoes and probably these jeans are ruined.

Thankfully, there’s a teenager with a watering hose, and they’re able to spray off the worst of the concrete.

“You ready to finally get your hands dirty?” the old guy from before asks as he hands me a hard hat.

I look around, unsure if he means to include me in the actual doing of things. He raises his brows expectantly, so I go along with it.

“Uh, sure. Do I need to sign a document? Like a safety sheet or something?”

The old guy snorts. “Do you plan on getting hurt? ”

“No, sir,” I answer quickly.

“Then go to house number three six three and help with the tape and float job.”

“I don’t actually know what that means,” I admit, heat blooming on my neck and into my face.

Reality check: I have no business being here if I’m not actually going to help. These folks are here to do serious work, and I am… What? Stalking some guy who said no? Nah, my dads raised me better than that.

“That’s why you’re here today, aren’t you? To learn how to do those things,” he insists, pointing again at tiny house number three six three.

Having lost sight of Truett—again—I let out a sigh. At least I’ll be doing something nice for someone else. I walk over to the tiny house in question and find the woman wearing cargo shorts who looks like she’s in charge.

“I don’t have any skills whatsoever, but that guy over there told me you need help with tape and float. Uh, whatever that is?”

Shading her face with her hand, she looks up at me, amusement sparking in her eyes. “Boys, we’ve got a green one!” she yells, her voice tinged with, frankly, a little too much glee.

A shout goes up from the guys working on the house, but it all feels good-natured, not judgmental. Not gonna lie, it’s a little embarrassing when they have the teenager who hosed me off show me the mud-tape-mud process, but he’s an excellent teacher.

Thankfully, it’s one of those fast-brain things, and I pick up on it quickly. Despite my lack of knowledge, I get through the taping and floating in a little over an hour. Feeling proud of myself, I step outside to grab a drink of water.

The gal in charge comes over and pats my shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll get faster with a bit more practice.”

Oh. Er, maybe it isn’t one of those fast-brain things after all, because the teenager is inspecting my work and fixing all the errors I made. Considering the house is only about two hundred and fifty square feet, I’ve messed up quite a bit.

At least the building is still in one piece.

Taking another long swig of ice-cold water, I see Truett heading toward his Mustang out of the corner of my eye. I return the materials to the teenager, send a quick salute to the gal in charge, and head toward the parking lot.

I love my car, one of the newer EVs on the market, but it’s a little flashy. If I’m going to continue following Truett, I’ll need to borrow a truck from Tia Scout or one of my uncles.

I hang back as he starts his Mustang and makes his way off the jobsite. As soon as it looks safe, I take off. I didn’t, however, plan on the shift switch. Right as Truett makes it onto the highway, everyone rushes the exit. I finally reach the highway ten minutes later, but he’s long gone.

Maybe next time.