I nod, too riled up to acknowledge his goalie joke with the eye roll it deserves, taking a bite of my sandwich and forcing myself to swallow. At least Gideon’s happy, smiling away, gaze locked on someone at the figure skating team’s table. Gid elbows me. “That’s him. I’m so gonna marry his ass one day.”
He’s facing away, so I can’t get a good look at him, but his red hair’s growing in, too. He’s a slight thing, and there’s something about the way he moves. It’s familiar. I squint, trying to get a better look, hoping he’ll turn around?—
“Hey, that’s enough. Stop lookin’,” Gid says. Did he just growl at me?
I laugh. “You’re kidding, right? Not interested.” If only he knew how taken I am.
“Don’t care. Keep looking, and I’ll stab your eyes out with this fork.”
But he’s the one who wanted me to … know what? Never mind. It’s adorable. Something I never thought I’d say about Gideon in a million years. I hope Cooper can handle the eldest Thorne brother.
I get through my classes, though I didn’t pay attention in any of them, and as promised, I’m notified there’s a driver outside for me at the end of the day.
It’s not what I expected. These places are supposed to be, like, skincare clinics—I looked it up the first time my father told me I’d be getting everything removed. This place is the back alley of skincare clinics. It can’t be legal.
“Take off your shirt,” a low voice says. It’s a heavy-set man in a stained white T-shirt and jeans. He gestures to a black, padded chair. It’s got fucking straps on it with large buckles, glinting under the dim yellow light. “Sit.”
His beady eyes scan my body. “This will hurt,” he warns. I can’t place his accent. “You want the straps?”
Before he can get started, the bell over the door rings as a thin man in a stylish suit enters, one hand in his pocket. His soft blond hair falls across his forehead, feathering over his left eye, leaving his striking features exposed. He stands, chest held high, with the confidence of a lion.
Or a witch or a vampire if my friends are right.
“Ah, just in time,” he says. “That will be all, Bob.”
The man—Bob, I guess—looks up. “I’m still getting paid?”
“Double, in fact,” Ethan says. He pulls out a billfold stuffed with cash, peeling off more bills than this guy deserves. He makes a show of giving him extra. “If anyone asks, you worked on our friend here.”
Bob shrugs, taking the money. He didn’t have much skin in the game, I guess.
“Come along,” he says, motioning quickly. There’s a car outside. He climbs into the driver’s seat; I get into the passenger side.
“What’s going on?”
“Tate bugged your phone. He heard what was going on and sent me to fetch you.”
“He what?” My jaw clenches, eyes watering. How does Tate manage to make me pissed at him and near to tears with relief?
“Bugged your phone,” he says, slower this time. “Is there an issue with your hearing?” He starts the car. An old Nirvana song blasts from the speakers. He turns it down, sniffing. “Sorry. Also, your rich ass owes me five thousand dollars.”
“Yeah, I heard what you said. I’m fucking appalled. Who does Tate think he is?”
Ethan smiles crookedly. He’s clearly reminiscing about all the things Tate does that make him who he thinks he is. “Look, just go with it, okay? The man is a barrel rolling down a hill—you can try to stop him, but you’re more likely to get bowled over.”
“And I’m too low on his list of priorities for him to fetch himself?”
“Not too bright, are you, kid?” No way Ethan’s that much older than I am. He just likes to feel superior. “He wanted to be the one to retrieve you, but Tate’s not exactly inconspicuous. Don’t worry, you’ll see him very soon.”
We end up at the brewery. Ethan refused to answer any questions directly related to Tate, Kline, or the shady tattoo removal place. At one point, he turned his Nirvana back up until I agreed we’d only talk about trivial nonsense. Something I wouldn’t normally bother with, but I did just to make him have to talk to me.
“You’re under orders to be nice to me, aren’t you?” I deduce as we pull up to the brewery.
“Get out of my fucking car,” he says instead of answering.
Okay, so notthatnice, but he can’t stab me like he wants to. And for the record, he’s not that scary.
Although it might have to do with him being forbidden from harming me.
