“But he did say he saw you.” He clears his throat and for the first time in long minutes, he glances away, over the top of my head.
Then back to me.
There’s a crease between his dark brows.
I shift from one foot to the other, a hot discomfort coursing through my blood, but I couldn’t say why.
Faust looks at me again, and this time, he takes a step.
Away.
The motion causes me to catch the people behind the glass, still snapping photos, and I’m grateful they can’t hear us, or see what he’s saying.
It feels as if I’m waiting for a blow, but a different one than Jackson seemed primed to lash out at me with in his truck.
I put the pieces together well enough on Faust’s recoil, and his words.
I think of Jemma and I don’t wait for the hit. “What exactly did he say we did?” My voice is colder. Sharper, too.
“That’s not my business.”
“But if he said it to you, it sure as fuck is.” I clench my fingers into fists inside my pockets. If Sylvan Connor said what I think he said, I might break his fucking leg and his team is going to need more offensive players.
Faust inhales, his nostrils flaring, then he says, on the exhale, “Who you hook up with doesn’t concern me?—”
“What?”My voice is a snarl asSlut Dechoes in my head. Why the hell would he say that? What are we, in middle school? And why would he tell Faust even if it were true? I realize they’re on the same team but they didn’t exactly seem like besties Wednesday night. Then again, it’s not like we had a good hangout session to clarify and I suppose assuming they weren’t close was my mistake.
But coming here after being summoned to by an arrogant, lying asshole was an even bigger one.
“And youbelievedhim?” I spit out, unable to turn around and walk away.
This is why I drink.I repeat it to myself again, wishing I’d had a third drink like I’d planned to, but I was trying to be responsible which held me back.
Faust stares blankly at me.
Fuck him and fuck his little fan club.
Fuck the Dragons, too.
I shake my head, open my mouth to snarl something else out, then think better of it. There’s no point. Why I entertained this bullshit is beyond me. Sylvan is a psychopath and Faust is gullible and indifferent.
We ended up caught in the same drama on the same night but Jackson is gone. Trying to stick together to find out more on the investigation or whatever other bullshit Sylvan Connor wanted is a waste of my fucking time. And whatever Faust wanted togiveme, he’s made no indication of doing so, and Neve Devine doesn’t fucking beg.
“I’m done here.” I shoot a glare to Faust and just barely resist the urge to stick up my middle finger over his shoulder and give his outdoor fan club something else to talk about.
I spin around, prepared to walk home, but I come up short when I realize someone isrightfucking behind me.
I suck in a breath, the scent of mint and soft leather and smoke filling my nose as I tip my head up past a wall of a red overcoat and cream sweater all the way to blue-gray, frostbitten eyes.
Eyes with tiny lines at the corner.
Smirking.
And before I can think about the fact people are watching, I’m outnumbered, and these are two soon-to-be-pro hockey players I’m once again standing between, I throw out my hands and shove Sylvan Connor backward.
His reaction is faster than I anticipated.
His black gloved hands shoot out and wrap around my wrists faster than I can snatch back my limbs. He grips me so tightly, it’s like my bones shift beneath his hold, and my lips part, but I refuse to let out a whimper.
