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“You can’t do that!” Domino shouts.
Zander just chuckles.
“I dare you to test who has more connections in the entertainment industry, Dom,” Zander offers as a reminder. “Think you forget Ares’ model contract includes the N.H.L. Meaning, he’s best buddies with your coach. He asked Ares to join your team, but he kindly refused for yet another year because he knows if he’s on the ice, he’d dominate you speed-wise.”
Domino doesn’t say anything.
Instead, the car swerves roughly to the right, and we’re no longer moving at a snail’s pace.
“Ah. Much bette—” Zander begins, but the car jerks forward yet again, the press of the brakes far more obvious this time.
“What the fuck, Dom?” Ares question.
“That wasn’t my fault. It’s those douchebags in front of me,” he argues, and the car horn rings out.
“Hmm? I recognize that car,” Zander admits. “Purple hybrid Cybertruck? Who owns that shit again?”
“Verena?” Ares calls out to me, and I stir just a little before snuggling against Zander like he’s a blanket of sorts.
I should think of something…
“Bunny.”
The silence that follows with my sleep-heavy mutter follows with a groan from Dom.
“She fucking sleep talks.”
“I know that,” Ares says rather casually.
“How the fuck would you know that?” Domino counters.
“Ares was watching her sleep when she was recovering, remember?” Zander reminds. “With his stalker guard of a brother who Sweet Dynamite is still mad at, by the way.”
“I noticed,” Ares admits. “Good reason.”
“Agreed,” Zander comments.
“Why the fuck is she even wearing that shit?”
The other two don’t reply immediately, but I feel as though something is touching my chest.
“A bunny pin?” Zander inquires. “It’s kinda cute. Reminds me of those anime pins all the Woobs would collect.”
“Woobs?” Ares needs a moment. “You mean the anime weebs?”
“Same shit,” Zander doesn’t sound like he gives a shit in correcting himself. “Where did she get it from?”
“Who the fuck knows or cares?!” Domino snaps. “You don’t like them.”
“It’s not like I don’t like them. I just wouldn’t go near them. Big difference,” Zander argues. “You can appreciate diabolic beauty from afar.”
“They’re not diabolical,” Ares sighs.
“Have you seen those white furry buggers with red eyes?” Zander gasps in horror. “At night? Horror fucking movie.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m allergic, remember?” Ares notes.
“You get hives and shit, right?”
