Kit squirmed. “There are so many reasons they shouldn’t like me.”
Bishop glanced over. “You’re very likable.” Which Kit almost protested, before Bishop added, “And good at lying.”
That was more like it. “Your mom asked if I did drugs,” Kit said. “She was like, weirdly insistent about it.”
“Oh.” Holden sat back, with an uncharacteristic awkward laugh. “That.”
“Oh, that?” Kit swiveled to glare—but Bishop tapped his knee again, and he slumped facing forward.
Holden leaned over the console. Bishop didn’t care about his posture, apparently. “When I was a sophomore, I pretended I had a meth-head girlfriend taking all my money.”
They merged onto the freeway, traffic light and breezy at this hour of the afternoon.
“What,” Kit said after a moment.
“She wasn’t real,” Holden said quickly, as if that made it better. “You’re the first real person I’ve ever dated.”
“Not something I was concerned about until this exact moment,” Kit said faintly. “How manypretendpeople have you dated?”
“Just the one,” Holden assured him. “I only talked about her with my parents. It’s not like I was actually pretending to date her.”
“I’m not jealous.” Kit contemplated, then decided that it was true. This was too weird to be jealous about. “Were you just fucking with your parents?”
Holden laughed, his usual composure back. “Fucking with them was a bonus, but it wasn’t the point. That was when I started really building up my murder caches, and I needed an explanation for where all the money was going.”
“Your murder caches,” Kit said. “Right, of course.”
Totally sensible to make up a meth-head girlfriend to obscure the stashes of weapons, cleanup supplies, and other equipment Holden had hidden around San Corvo.
Christ, how did Kit ever mistake Holden for normal?
“Besides,” Holden said cheerfully. “Now all my other choices look wonderful in comparison. Mom was so thrilled when I broke up with her. I rode that wave of goodwill for like a year.”
“Wow, that’s…” Kit struggled for the words.
“Pretty smart,” Bishop chimed in.
Kit stared. “Not what I was going to say.”
Bishop just grinned. They shared a sideways glance, and the instant of connection was a gut punch of familiarity. Like there wasn’t any awkward unfinished business between them.
When they reached Darius’s block, Bishop slowed way down. “What’s James’s car doing here?”
“I asked him to come over,” Holden said, and his sly grin was liquid fire in his voice. “I’m calling a very important meeting.”
16
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“Seriously, what the fuck is this about?” Kit asked, not for the first time. He slouched under Darius’s arm, fiddling with the cuff of Darius’s sleeve. The borderline of warm, velvet skin. They sat on the couch together, while Holden hooked his laptop to the television and James wandered back and forth from the kitchen.
Bishop had left after seeing Kit and Holden safely inside.
Holden winked from across the room. “You’ll see in a minute. Don’t worry—it isn’t bad.”
“You know that’s guaranteed to make me worry, right?” Kit complained.
Holden leaned down to connect a cord, his shirt riding up his toned, tanned back. “Should I tell you to worry instead?”
