“I’m not going anywhere,” I remind him. “As far as Thrasher Thompson is concerned, I work here, and I can’t leave until my shift’s over. Which, again, as far as he’s concerned, is never.”
“Still…” Davis glances toward the bar where Cece is mid-gossip with Aggie.
I can tell he’s dying to rat me out, and I’m not going to let him. I move in closer. “Look, whatever you say, I’m doing this. Thrasher’s ten times worse than the guy who put gum in my hair, and his family basically owns Pukekohe. I’m hardly punching down, Mall Cop.”
“I didn’t say that. I just don’t think?—”
“Relax. He’ll realise he’s not gonna get laid and bail like the stag party guys did.”
Davis frowns. “Those guys didn’t bail.”
“Uh, yeah, they did? Unless you kicked them out?”
“No. Your All Black mate—” his mouth twists “—paid the bill, gave them a shitload of cash, and told them to fuck off.”
“Oh.”
So Jake was the reason they cleared house? He paid for everyone’s drinks and shoved his friends toward a strip club just for a chance to be alone with me? That’s kind of romantic…
… is what I’d say if I felt feelings.
“Not important,” I say to Davis. “Just keep your eyes peeled, Narc.”
“But—”
“Thanks, bestie,” I call over my shoulder on my way to the ladies’. “Nothing to fear but fear itself.”
I say that, but Davis’s annoying concern has rubbed off on me. No matter how much I practice giggling in the mirror, I can’t get it right. I return to my playpen, and I spot a man with reddish-brown hair and a full beard, scanning the room as if he owns it. My pulse spikes.
He’s just a guy, I think as I wave him over.He’s just some guy.
But he doesn’t seem like just a guy. The smirk he gives at the sight of me could freeze vodka. Stabbies seems to shift around him, turning my familiar haunt dark and melancholy.
I’m fifteen again, cold concrete under my ass, my heart pounding under my baggy school jumper as the threat of violence hovers so close I can taste it.
“Hey,” Thrasher says, bending to kiss my cheek. “You look good.”
The hairs on the back of my neck spike. He’s been drinking; I can smell whiskey on his breath. I lied to Davis. This manisdangerous. I can feel it like I can feel my toes jammed into the points of my shoes. Thrasher isn’t a kid anymore. He’s a fully grown adult, and this is real life, and I’m an idiot for saying he should come here.
“Hi…” I whisper, aiming for sexy and landing in scared. Also, I’ve forgotten his real name, and he knows it.
His beard twitches in disapproval. “Dan.”
“Dan,” I repeat.Please don’t hit me, Dan.
I glance over his shoulder and spot Davis watching us, stone sober and all business. His steady glare gives me the strengthto sit back in my booth. “Can I get you a drink?”
“In a minute.” Thrasher’s gaze drags down my body so slowly it stings. He must like what he sees because I get another blood-curdling smirk. “Heard you fucked JGH?”
Muscle memory keeps my bimbo smile in place as I mentally curse the Graves-Holland bloodline back to the Stone Age. So, Captain Popular ran his mouth about us, huh? That would certainly explain the online thirst. Being with the king of Pukekohewouldonly make me sexier to these bottom-feeders. All Black-approved seconds on a silver platter.
“How do you know about that?” I ask, sugar-sweet.
“Got my ways.” Thrasher inspects my body like it’s a meal he’s already paid for. “Boy reckons you’re a real freak. Can’t get enough.”
I hate the way I blush almost as much as I hate Thrasher Thompson. Fuck this dude. Fuck this entire idea. But before I can tell him to go play in traffic, he jerks his chin—still weak under his Ned Kelly beard—at the bar. “I’m gonna go say hi to Cece. Drink?”
“Sure,” I autoreply, like Pavlov’s dumbest dog.
