“Be right back.”
She sauntered off, and while I’d considered the merits of banging her in the past — she was nice and had curves for days — the truth was, I wasn’t even a little bit tempted now, and I knew it was because of Maeve.
Not good.
“We need to stop at the Orpheum after this,” Bram said.
Honey dropped off our beers on her way to another table.
“Cool.” I lifted my beer to my lips. “What’s up?”
“Next Hunt’s only a month away. Have to start prepping.”
My stomach sunk. Maeve had been with us eight weeks, and I’d started to feel like a silent clock was ticking down on the time we had left with her, which was weird as fuck. She might not have been from Southside, but she was still a Hunt girl.
We’d already broken rules — fucking her, giving her presents — but letting her go was the biggest rule of all.
“A month is a long time,” I said.
He stared me down the way only Bram could, like he could see into my fucking soul, like he was about to suck it out with a straw through my asshole. “Not that long.”
“We could take a break.” I couldn’t imagine chasing another girl through the tunnels.
Couldn’t imagine bringing another girl home.
“We’ll need someone else to cook when she leaves,” Bram said.
This was one of the ways Bram tried to keep his distance from Maeve: not using her name.
And it meant he was in every bit as much trouble as Poe and I.
“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”
Bram scowled. “What the fuck are you on about?”
“Shakespeare,” I said. “You try to ignore her because you like her.”
I used the word “try” because no matter how much Bram acted like a dick toward Maeve, I knew it was a front. When Bram didn’t care about something, that something had no power over him.
He could name it, confront it.
Maeve had power over him. I didn’t know what it was, but she had power over me too, so who was I to judge? On the other hand, I wasn’t the one pretending it wasn’t true.
“Bullshit. She’s just a Hunt girl.”
“Bullshit. She’s Maeve.”
He leaned back, tipped his bottle to his lips, and stared at me through narrowed eyes.
Honey stopped by with our burgers and set them down in front of us, extending her arm toward Bram so she didn’t have to get too close. It would have been weird if it hadn’t been familiar, but I’d seen people do all kinds of things to avoid getting close to Bram.
“You’re in dangerous territory,” Bram said, when Honey left. He didn’t make a move to eat his food.
“So are you.”
“Fuck you, Remy.”
“Fuck you back, bro.” There was nothing heated about the exchange. It was just a conversation.
