“I walked her home,” I say, handing the phone back. “You asked me to keep an eye on her.”
“I know what I asked.” He shoves the cell in his pocket and drags a hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you; I just can’t stand what they’re implying.”
“Since when do you care what theRagsays?”
“Since they’re making Gin and you look like two-timing assholes.”
I shove my hands into my pockets and say nothing.
“Sorry,” Art continues. “I just… I’m in over my head.”
“You remember when you crashed your dad’s car into Ms. Valdez’s mailbox?”
He blinks. “What?”
“Your dad’s Audi. The mailbox. We were fifteen, and you took it out for a joyride, and you got so freaked out after that you just left it there. TheRagran an article and saidIwas the one who stole it, remember?”
His brows furrow. “Your dad beat your ass for that, so that’s not really making me feel better.”
“I’m just saying, theRagis full of shit, and they’ve used me as a target since I was old enough to walk.” I reach out, squeezing his shoulder. “Don’t worry about what they’re saying. I sure as hell don’t.”
“Yeah. You’re right. It just makes me fucking sick. You’re so much better than that, you know?”
I swallow and look away as he says, “And so is she.”
There’s a half breath where Genevieve’s face surfaces in my mind. My pulse picks up, and I pull my hand back.
“You could send in an anonymous tip, telling them you asked me to be there.”
He laughs. “The last thing I’ll ever be is a source forThe Rosebrook Ragof all places.”
“Then we say fuck it and move on. That’s what we do, right? We figure shit out together.”
My arm slides around his shoulder, and I drag him back in. Whatever that was a second ago—I put it away, because it doesn’t matter, and it isn’t even real. Not like this. Not like Art and me.
“Yeah, well, we both know what happens when I have you solve my problems.”
“Let it go, man. I love you, you know? I’d do it a thousand times over.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Try harder.”
He grins, but then his face goes pale, his eyes locking on something over my shoulder.
“Arthur.”
We both freeze.
Chapter 12
Lance
Franklin Penngrove—mayor and Art’s dad—rounds the corner, his security detail at his back. His silver hair’s immaculate, and he’s wearing a charcoal overcoat that’s perfectly pressed. He looks like he stepped off a campaign poster.
Art’s spine goes straight, and my arm drops from around him.
“Dad. What are you doing here?”
