heating up now.â He wipes the back of his mouth and hands back the bottle.
âDidnât you just open a soda?â I say.
Mat shrugs. âChelseaâs bottle looked better.â
âGross,â she says. âNow Iâve got Mat germs.â
Their laughter cuts through the thick tension thatâs settled on the couch. I try not to think about it as I guide my character through a series of rapid lunges, kicks, and sprints, then dart into a dark back alley.
Mat points at a lone Mustang under a virtual spotlight. âThereâs an easy boost.â
Not always. âNah, I need something with more guts.â
Nick shoots me a dark glare. âItâs not whatâs under the hood that matters.â
Experience tells me that most new Mustangs run a stock engineâenough torque to stoke male pride, but not much in the way of a serious getaway car. Launching into this discussion with Nick feels like social suicide, though, so I ignore the bait.
I spot a Camaro tucked behind a garbage Dumpster and toggle my character forward. My adrenaline surges. Seconds later, Iâve virtual hot-wired the car, and bikini girl and I are set to ride into the smog-filled horizon.
Mat reaches across Chelsea to give me a high five. âImpressive.â
I slough off the compliment with a half-assed shrug.
âNo really, you totally knew what you were doingâin and done. Practically invisible or something. . . .â
Nick snorts. âOr something . . .â
My breath catches, but Chelsea doesnât miss a beat. âYouâve obviously done this before.â
I set the controller on the coffee table, so not liking where this conversationâs headed, grab a handful of Chelseaâs popcorn, and stuff my mouth to stop from blurting out something I donât mean.
âThief!â she shouts with a laugh.
The word lands hard. Over the thundering roar of my heartbeat, I swear I hear Nick snicker.
I stand on shaky legs. âIâm heading to bed.â
Chelseaâs pink-frosted lips form a pout. âOh, hey, hope I didnât hit a nerve there. You know I was just joking around, right?â Two worry lines knot above her perfectly groomed eyebrows. âLike Nick says, weâve all got a rough past.â
âDonât let the bedbugs bite,â Nick cuts in.
Jesus. Just how far is that joystick stuck up his ass?
Iâm itching to continue a conversation with Chelsea, but one look at Nickâs scowl and my curiosity shrivels like an overripe grape. And of course Iâm so flustered and pissed off, I trip on the edge of a throw rug and pitch myself into the hall.
Right into Roger.
Like things could get any worse.
He tilts his head. âSomehow I thought youâd be more graceful than that.â
I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. Tears brim in my eyes and that sucks because Iâm already tired of crying. Tired of trying to understand Nick, this place, Roger, all of it.
âIâm sorry. That was uncalled for.â
His apology draws out a strangled sob.
âOh dear,â he says. âIâm sure this is all quite overwhelming.â
His tone is soft, comforting, like a Toyota Supra after a fresh tune-up. Iâm not buying it.
âGive it some time,â he goes on. âYouâll feel at home before long.â
Home.
My chest fills with air so fast I think it might explode. âI just need to blow off some steam.â
Rogerâs mustache lifts with a fake smile. âI have the perfect solution. Come.â
The animated chatter in the games room fades as I respond to Rogerâs command. I scope out the rooms down the hallâa cherrywood desk fills an office, a hot tub in the spa overlooks Mount Charleston, and a life-size knight in polished armor guards another room with a stocked bar and two pool tables. Something about the statue looks familiar.
âWhatâs with all
Louis - Sackett's 08 L'amour