I finished the crunchy tacos and started on the soft ones. West took another step, not bothering to conceal his open fascination with my scar. I felt naked and raw under his gaze and almost sighed in relief when his eyes tore away from my cheek, landing on the wanted sign. I chanced a quick glance at him. If he’d fought tonight, I couldn’t tell. He looked relaxed and quiet. Tranquil, almost.
“Looking for a job?” Reign snickered.
“Seriously, Reign, zip it,” Easton, who was probably the nicest of the three, barked.
West plucked the paper from the truck, balling it in his fist and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans.
“Savage,” Reign tutted, inching backward on a cackle, his face tilted up to the sky.
“Way harsh, West.” Tess’ voice lacked that same punishing bite she reserved for Reign. “Why would you do that?”
West ignored them both, turning his head to look directly at me. He rolled the candy stick in his mouth like a toothpick, giving me a look that crammed a loaded question into it.
Whatcha gonna do about it, Toastie?
I poured the margarita slushies in record time and tallied up the bill for Tess while Reign, Easton, and the rest of the girls scurried toward the edge of the parking lot to tuck into the food. West stayed by Tess’ side, his eyes still stuck on my scar.
I braced myself for an insult, my shell hardening like a taco.
“So, I wanted to ask,” Tess purred, taking his wrist and flipping it palm up so his inner bicep was on full display. “What does your tattoo mean? What does A stand for?”
My eyes betrayed me, and I stole a quick look to what she was talking about. It was a simple tattoo of the letter A. No special font or a design. Just one letter, in Times New Roman.
“Probably asshole,” I muttered under my breath.
Both their gazes flew up to me.
Lord. I’d said it aloud. A soon-to-be dead idiot. What was I thinking?
You were thinking that he is an asshole. Because he is.
“Grace.” Tess slapped her mouth. “For shame.”
West spat the candy out on the ground, his slanted, fierce eyes on me. My head was dangerously close to exploding from all the blood rushing into it. After a long stretch of silence, he finally slapped two Benjamins into Tess’ open palm, turned around, and walked away in catlike grace, paying for everyone’s food and drinks. Tess rolled her eyes, handing me the money.
“Sorry about the want ad. West’s got a bit of a mean streak. He’s my work in progress.”
“Ain’t your fault.”
I peeled the plastic gloves off and handed Tess the change. She grabbed my hand and gasped. Her unexpected skin-to-skin contact made me shiver. I wasn’t used to being touched.
“Cool ring! Where’d you get it?”
“It was my momma’s. Here’s your change.”
“Keep it.”
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. That was one hell of a tip.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“Screw him for acting the way he did. You know, West really gets a bad rep, but honestly, he is a big softie. He can be, like, super sweet when he wants to be.”
I wasn’t sold on West being anything other than a raging psychopath, but this was not a conversation I was eager to pursue. I wanted to get out of here, erase tonight from my memory bank, and binge-watch Friends reruns until my faith in humanity was sufficiently restored.
“All righty,” I said robotically. “Thanks for stoppin’ by and shoppin’ at That Taco Truck.”
Tess flashed me a dazzling smile and turned around, running toward her friends.
I followed her with my eyes. She cut between the golden dunes framing the parking lot, straight to her popular friends. They clinked their slushies together, laughing, talking, and eating. My gut twisted.
I could have been Tess.
Correction: I was Tess.
I guess that was the part I hated most about my life. I was once a Tess. Showing off my legs in tiny cut-offs. Hanging out with the likes of West, Easton, and Reign. Sitting on the back of their motorcycles as they did wheelies on the old dirt road at the edge of town by the water tower. Explaining to lowly mortals how the mind and soul of West St. Claire worked, letting them in on some exotic top secret.
I rolled down the food truck’s window. When I turned around, Karlie squealed, barely containing her excitement. She high-fived me. My best friend was five feet tall on a good day. Tan and curvy, she had a round, gorgeous face laced with a constellation of freckles stretching from cheek to cheek. Once upon a time, when I was the designated Queen Bee of our school, I let her in with the cool kids. But that was four years ago. I could no longer offer her this perk.
“Easton Braun and Reign De La Salle, man. I’d like to be the pastrami between their buns.” She fanned herself. “But West St. Claire was the cheddar on the taco. I think he fought today.”