It’s bright out here, and it’s bright inside my brain for the first time in a long time.
But Sloan’s not wrong—I should wear them.
I just don’t want to miss a single second. I don’t want to see it in shades of grey.
I want the whole thing in loud, screaming Technicolor.
Sloan’s lower lip pouts and she looks a bit insolent, but I grin at her, throwing an arm around her shoulder and pressing my thumb into her skin. “I’ll be okay. I promise. And I know where to find the sunglasses if I need them. You’ve got the whole arsenal in there.”
She rolls her eyes, tips her chin up when she closes the bag, and slides it back on her shoulder, covering up the tattoo, but she doesn’t move away from my grip. She leans in, resting her head against my chest when we shuffle forward in the line.
“Being a gladiator would have been so fucking cool.” Talon waves his phone around, a wide smile stretching on his face.
“No. It wouldn’t have,” Sloan offers flatly.
Talon stops, ignoring the throngs of waiting people behind us. He cocks his head, flashing his phone so quickly no one has a chance to see what he was reading. “And why is that, Sloany?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “Contrary to whatever film and television have made you believe, they were prisoners of war, criminals, and sometimes slaves. They fought to the death for the entertainment of a corrupt empire, and they had very few rights.”
Talon blinks.
I don’t need to see her to know she’s rolling her eyes. My smile stretches.
“And archaeological evidence and forensic examination of their skeletons show just how brutal it was. Multiple, repeated fractures. They’ve even found evidence of bite marks that belonged to a lion on a man’s pelvis.”
“A lion?” Talon leans forward, ignoring everything else, before he turns and shakes Jay’s shoulders, repeating himself. “A lion!”
“Why?” Jay moans, shoving Talon away and clamping his hands over his ears.
Talon stretches his arms wide and starts walking backward again when someone somewhere in the back of the line shouts for us to hurry up. “Why am I the only one who thinks that’s cool?”
“You’re the only one who isn’t horribly hungover.” Tia flips the brim of her hat up.
Talon points at me. “Bohds looks fine. Not even wearing his sunglasses.”
“I am.” I nod, grip tightening against Sloan’s shoulder.
“I think we all know why.” Talon gestures between me and Sloan, raising his eyebrows. “And I had like, four mimosas at breakfast. The only way out is through, my friends.”
Jay stops, pushing his sunglasses up to hold his hair back. He frowns, this wild look of utter dismay on his face. “Wait—did that sort of make sense?”
“No.” Tia flicks Jay’s shoulder at the same time Talon lifts his palm for a high five.
Jay shakes his head, hands coming to grip the sides of his hair. “It did. It did make sense. Someone send fucking help.”
The front of the line clears, and Talon sprints up to the ticket booth. “Sorry, Jay. No can do. It’s gladiator time.”
“It’s not gladiator time. If it was, you’d be sprinting towards an arena full of armed men or maybe, if we were lucky, a bear.” Sloan fishes her sunglasses out of her tote and tries to get me to wear mine in one last half-hearted attempt.
I shake my head.
Talon leans against the ticket counter, propping himself upon his elbows, pointing his chin towards Jay. “If you thought the life of a gladiator was bad, Sloany, you should hear this guy’s knees when he tries to stand up.”
Jay holds his palms wide in indignation, looking to me for support.
But I shrug, cringing. “They are creaky. I’ve heard them.”
An entire lifetime of skating and playing and getting hit will do that to you.
