“Like what?” he asks.
I press my lips into a thin line, unsure what to say now that he’s called me out. Or did I call myself out? Honestly, I don’t even know.
“You know your friend’s family is bad news, right?” he finally says.
I can’t help it. I laugh. He does know he stole five grand from me, right? That he literally runs an underground gambling ringand fights…for fun. If that isn’t the definition of bad news, I don’t know what is. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
Unamused, he arches his brow. “Sometimes the devil you know is better than the one you don’t.”
“Then it looks like I came with the right company.”
“You’re telling me you know Morgan?” he challenges.
“I’m telling you I know Lexie and her family a hell of a lot better than I know you.”
“That isn’t exactly reassuring.”
“Why not?”
Jagger’s attention cuts to where Ethan and his posse disappeared before returning to me. And that’s when I see it. One of the few glimpses he’s given me behind the cocky bad boy persona he wears like a second skin. I saw it on the quad, too. When his fingers grazed the bruise on my back. And here it is. Again. He’s worried about me. But why? Why would Jagger Harden worry about me?
“Just…be careful, all right?” he murmurs.
Be careful?
He wants me to be careful?
I don’t know what it is. If it’s the alcohol in my veins or the warmth of his hand on bare skin or the depth in his gaze, but for some reason I can’t explain, my head bobs in a jerky nod, giving in. “Okay.” It’s nothing but a breath. Not even a whisper. But he hears me, nonetheless. Or maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he can read my acquiescence with his mind. I’m not sure. And maybe it doesn’t matter.
It. Doesn’t. Matter.
Snapping myself out of whatever spell he’s cast on me, I steal another sip of his drink, then hand it back to him. “Here.”
“Vi,” Lexie interrupts.
I step back, feeling guilty, though I have no idea why. Actually, that’s a lie. I was canoodling with the enemy. Withthe literal source of all The Drift’s problems. And I wasn’t just canoodling, I was…caving. To him. To his warped perception of who’s safe and who’s trouble, despite everything I’ve been through. What is wrong with me? “Yeah, Lex?” I answer.
Oblivious, she says, “So, from what little I’ve picked up from a few other people, we’re either supposed to go to the arcade or the haunted house. Any suggestions on which is worse, Jag Off?”
Jagger shakes his head. “Not allowed to give any hints.”
“Figured as much,” Lexie mutters. “Okay, if we each take a different game, the odds of one of us walking away with the pot is higher.”
“Good idea,” I say.
“Perfect! So, what do you say? Do you want the arcade or haunted house?”
Nibbling the edge of my bottom lip, I weigh my options. A specific amount of luck goes into any carnival game, and if I’ve learned anything in my life, it’s that I don’t have any. Lexie isn’t much better, but she’s at least familiar with most of the games. To me, they’d be as foreign as playing pickleball on Mars with an alien, and we could use every edge we have.
“I’ll take the haunted house,” I decide and grimace.
Lexie shares my sentiment, her expression souring. “Are you sure?”
I try to laugh it off. I’m not sure if I’m shaken from what I just agreed to, or if it’s because Jagger is still standing three feet away from me. “Of course, I’m sure. Why?”
“Because you hate the dark and scary things in general,” Lexie points out as if I need the reminder.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t know the first thing about carnival games.”
