room is more than simple decor mathâit practically breathes with her essence. Something about it doesnât feel right.
âSo whatâs his angle?â
Chelsea frowns. âSkeptical much?â
When I donât answer, she keeps talking. Her eyebrows knit with annoyance. âI get it. Roger can come off a bit . . .â
âScattered,â Mat fills in.
âHeâs definitely not firing on all pistons,â I add, a little under my breath.
Nick huffs. âHarsh.â
My face goes hot.
Chelsea shrugs. âItâll just take time, you know?â At my hesitant nod, she brightens. âForget it for now. How about a dance-off?â Her arms and legs twist into some fucked-up side-shift-lunge move. âBet you could kick my butt.â
âIâm not much of a dancer.â The lie gets caught in my throat.
Nick ejects Need for Speed and slips another disc into the Xbox. Blood whooshes to my head when the Grand Theft Auto logo pops onto the screen. Fuck. Me and my big mouth.
He holds out a controller. âCome on, hotshot. Letâs see what youâre made of.â
The edge in his voice is as sharp as steel. I take a step back, bumping into the wall. A hanging African-style mask tilts sideways. I note the plaque beneath itâanother movie propâand adjust the mask, stalling. âNo, I couldnât . . .â
Nick slumps back against the sofa cushions. âShoulda known youâre all talk.â
My skin suddenly feels too tight on my body. I snag the controller and flop down next to him. Our thighs touch. The couch practically shakes as his muscles tense. Good. I want him on edge. âYou asked for this.â
Chelsea pulls a stool up alongside the sofa and winds her finger through a lock of red hair. âWell. This just got interesting.â
While the game scene sets up, Mat and Chelsea make fun of the characters that flicker across the screen. I try to focus on deciphering Matâs words, but Iâm hyperaware of Nick. The way he slouches on the sofa, the smirk in the corner of his lip. Maybe itâs me thatâs on edge.
Gunfire spits through the speakers and the next thing I know, Iâm in the midst of a virtual shoot-out.
Chelsea leans forward on her stool. Her voice raises a full octave. âGet out of there!â
âGrab the cash first,â Nick says, a little under his breath.
I scrunch up my face. âIâm not a moron.â
Mat slides a stool next to Chelsea and cracks open a can of soda. I toggle through a series of hallways until I find the bank vault. Collect the money. Outrun a security guard. Meet up withâ
Seriously?
âUh, sheâs . . . interesting,â Chelsea says.
Mat whistles low. âWhoa, get a load of those chichis .â
Ignoring their commentary, I gun my way through an obstacle course of police cruisers and cops, while bikini girl runs behind me screaming like a damn banshee. âGod, someone ought to just put her out of her misery.â
Chelsea points wildly at the screen. âOh! Oh! Go left!â
One of my thumbs slips off the controller, spinning my character in a one-eighty.
âYour other left,â Nick mumbles.
Screw you.
I regain control and my character starts outrunning a couple of cops on footâas if this entire scenario wasnât already giving me epic déjà vu vibes. My heart thumps as I search for a set of wheels.
Mat hoots with laughter. âMy abuela is faster.â
âI doubt your grandma is hot-wiring cars,â I say, smirking.
Nickâs voice drops to a low growl. âEveryoneâs got their secrets.â
I duck my head so that my hair covers my blush. Maybe it wasnât personal, but the dig burns a little hole inside me. What? Roger told them all Iâm a car thief so Iâm a household pariah? Fuck this.
Mat grabs Chelseaâs water and chugs. âThings are really
Louis - Sackett's 08 L'amour