“Nah. They went class to class asking everyone.”
“They came to mine, too,” Christian says, slouched back in his chair. “They don’t know shit.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I ask Holden for the tenth time since the other night. His impulsiveness isn’t anything new, but this shit is on another level. When I left a few weeks ago, he seemed like he was ready to let it go.
“I told you. I was drunk as shit. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“Yeah, well. Next time you decide to go all mission impossible and bash the fuck out of a detective’s vehicle, fill us in first.”
He twirls a beer cap on the tabletop, a weird look on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“Our girl had my back. Again.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, ignoring that he referred to Shayne as our girl. “How so?”
“She was sitting right next to me when those cops came in our class. They pulled her out of class to question her. She had the chance to rat my ass out, but she didn’t.”
“Yet,” Christian tacks on.
Holden shrugs. “It’s possible. I don’t know, man. I trust her.”
Once again, Shayne manages to fuck with my head, and I don’t know which version of her is the real one.
The sound of the front door flying open and hitting the wall has all three of us jumping up, ready for a fight. What I don’t expect is to see Shayne storming into the kitchen in her volleyball uniform looking both fine as fuck and deadly. When she sees that we’re all here, she falters for half a second before pulling it together.
“Which one of you assholes did it?”
Her hair is in a messy ponytail, cheeks flushed, and she’s wearing those spandex shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, knee pads still around her legs. My dick jumps in my pants at the sight of her.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest. The other night, she couldn’t get out of here fast enough, and now she’s practically breaking the door down like she owns the place?
“My car,” she says through clenched teeth. “You slashed my tires.”
I turn to look at Holden and Christian, eyebrows raised in question. Both of them hold their hands up, proclaiming their innocence.
“I’m done. I’ve put up with your pranks, I’ve let you push me around out of, I don’t know, guilt,” she rambles. “I’ve saved your ass, kept your secrets.” She points at Holden. “And this is how you repay me?”
He steps to her, closing the distance between them. “It wasn’t me. But you made it clear earlier that you want to think the worst of me, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“No.” She shakes her head, stubbing a finger into his chest. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to manipulate me and make me feel guilty for being honest.”
I don’t know what they’re talking about now, but it’s clear that I’ve missed something, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. Like they’re in on something I’m not.
“It wasn’t us,” he says again, throwing up his arms. He shakes his head, frustrated, and sits back down at the table.
Shayne looks over at me in question.
“I’d like to think I’m a little more creative than that.”
“You mean like the cockroaches?” she throws back. “That was pretty clever.”
I move toward her, crowding her space. “I’m getting real sick of being accused of shit I didn’t do.” She tries to hold her ground, but the way her throat moves when she swallows hard gives away her nerves. “You seem to think I spend a lot more time thinking about you than I do. Don’t flatter yourself.” It’s a flat-out fucking lie that she hasn’t occupied every one of my thoughts since she’s been back, and even before that if I’m being honest with myself. But she doesn’t have to know that.
“Right. And it wasn’t you who threw me into your car against my will either, I’m sure. Just some other guy wearing your face.”
Touché.