Page 73 of Just Wait

The only saving grace is that I can’t imagine these guys ever going bowling.

I’m wedged between Malcolm and Kincaid on one side of the limo while Parish and Tennyson are across from us. Riser ended up on the back seat alone.

Kincaid and I climbed in before everyone else. I was surprised Malcolm didn’t sit next to Riser. It would have put two of us on each seat, but I got the feeling he wanted to be able to throw his arm around my shoulder.

Mal pulls out his phone, getting close to my ear. “Smile for me, baby doll. Don’t worry. I’m not going to post it. I just want some pictures of us.”

I smile, leaning into him, and he snaps a few pictures.

Shit.

I’m starting to wonder if I’m being unfair to Mal. He’s a great distraction from my heartbreak, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to use him to keep myself busy.

I better understand why Tennyson made a point of telling me to get lost soon if I intended to leave.

“You care if I send this one to my mom?” Malcolm asks close to my ear. His nose dances from my throat, up my jaw, and across my cheek. Pulling back, he smiles brightly. “I like to keep her and my dads updated on how my life is going so they don’t call nonstop when shit pops up in the press. They’ve gotten better about it over the years, but they’re gullible.”

It’s those fucking dimples.

How could anyone say no to them?

I’m certainly not strong enough to.

“Go for it,” I say, nodding.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him what he’s going to say to her about who I am, but I close my mouth, copping out.

We’ve known each other for a few days.

I’m sure he’ll just tell her I’m one of the fans.

It’s slightly cooler in Columbia, or maybe the breeze is to thank.

Malcolm is a beast at mini golf.

All the guys are better than I am.

There are miniature golf places all over Clearwater, where Theo and I used to live, but we never went.

I frown at my ball, wondering if I should just give up and follow the guys around while they finish their game.

Malcolm watches Riser take his shot, rubbing his hands together like a cartoon villain. Who knew he was so competitive when it comes to mini golf? I certainly didn’t, but Mal is definitely slated to win unless someone pulls out a miracle.

Tennyson and Parish made it two holes before giving up and going back inside to play arcade games. I would have joined them, but I didn’t want to cramp their style when I know they’re looking to find someone to hook up with tonight.

I snort at the thought.

Does anyone meet prospective sexual partners at gaming centers? Hell, they’re rock stars. I bet they could pick up chicks at a dollar store.

Kincaid saunters over, his long blond hair and bright teal eyes standing out in stark contrast to his tan skin and black leather jacket. “How many strokes are you up to on this one?”

I snort, shaking my head. “Five.”

“Fuck.” He laughs.

“Yeah, the rules said to stop at six and move to the next hole.” I shrug. “Mini golf is not my game.”

“It’s not mine either,” he says, stepping to the side. “All right, take your shot. I can’t be the only one praying for this to be over so we can finally play some real games.”