“Fuck.” I pick up the pace.
Sure enough, at the back of the lot is a row of street race cars. Guys do it at every festival. Every show. Every opportunity to pop their hoods and measure their dicks.
Sure enough, Gianni is standing next to a blue Lambo. Him and the snaky owner, some kid with slicked hair and white high top shoes, are talking and laughing.
“Bingo,” Mav says as we make our way over.
Then I see him.
Gianni shifts his weight to the side. Standing behind him is Tristan.
I don’t fucking think so.
“Here we go,” Baron says.
“I was hoping the night would be fun,” Mav grins.
But I am not amused. Tristan is the last person I want around Gianni.
“Hey, speak of the devil.” Gianni calls over to me. I can tell by the slur in his voice he’s been drinking.
“We were just talking about you,” Tristan says.
I ignore him for the time being and zero in on Gianni.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” I snap.
“Yo, I thought you were cool.”
“And I thought you were smart.”
Low whistles and chuckles come from all around.
“The kid is just looking for a little fun,” Tristan says.
I slice a glare over to him. “I suggest you stay out of this.”
“Listen—” Gianni starts in.
He doesn’t get to finish that sentence, because I grab him.
“No,youlisten. You are here for the concert. Now get back over there and watch the show with your sisters before I take your ass home.”
Gianni shoves me off. He stares at me for half a second—a move that’s either very brave or very stupid depending on what he’ll choose to do next.
Then he tucks his tail and stalks off.
Then I turn to Tristan, who is chuckling.
“When did you become a boring old man?”
“I don’t ever want to see you near him again, understood?”
Tristan is grinning, but there is something else behind his eyes. He stands up, peeling himself from the car he was leaning against.
“That kid is smart.” He starts pacing in front of me.
“Not smart enough to stay out of trouble.”
