“Yeah, we know,” Carter chimes in. “We were all in the backseatwhen Nana drove herself to the hospital with a gunshot wound in her leg while beating the shit out of you in the passenger seat.”
“Eat shit!” Connor spits.
The Nana story always ends with them fighting, and I can’t have this in here.
“Wake him up,” I tell Dean.
He pulls Ivan up, shaking him hard enough to get him conscious again.
“We start in a month. Go against us, and the necklace will be the least painful part. Play along, and we all leave pleased. Now thank us for granting you a more than fair percentage, despite your charming attitude.” I’m taking a page out of Summer’s playbook.
“Thank you!” Romanoff spits as he talks, and I step back to avoid the spray.
And a second later, he blacks out. Again. At least I hope he’s passed out and not dead.
Dean checks for a pulse before we head out and flips the sign toClosed. Don’t want anyone disturbing our new collaborator before he’s regained consciousness.
Fresh air hits us as we step outside, but a vivid splash of red across a billboard makes my vision tunnel like a bull ready to charge. That color belongs to Summer—the exact shade of dark fiery hair that makes me lose my fuckin’ mind every single time. Even miles away, she still has me by the balls.
My attention locks on a jewelry store on the other side of the street, and I vaguely register Carter mentioning something about visiting an art gallery nearby, or Connor say he’s up for the best pizza in New York.
Am I actually contemplating buying jewelry as an apology?
She’s not the type to fall for cheap tricks. And I’ve never bought anything for a girl before, not even a fuckin’ piece of gum. Now I’m considering buying diamonds in a pathetic attempt to make her talk to me again.
“Don’t you have places to be?” I mutter when Dean lingers, trying to shake him off, but he grins.
“And miss this? Not a chance!”
“Miss what?” I play dumb, though that never works with Dean.
“You buying jewelry for a girl to beg your way back into her good graces.”
“Fuck off!” I push Dean’s shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.
“Not a chance,” he repeats, before striding for the store. With a frustrated grunt, I follow him. “What’s she mad about? The belt-around-her-neck thing?”
How bad did it look if he, of all people, mentions it?
“Worse,” I admit.
“You’re a real charmer when it comes to her.”
Six hours later, I’m parked near Summer’s dorm. The lights are off.
Where the fuck is she at 8 p.m. on a Monday night?
I sneak inside my pissed-off little demon’s room, searching for those long legs of hers that make the wordlittlefeel like a lie.
Her phone sits on the desk, which makes me reconsider the practicality of my gift. I should’ve gotten her a different type of necklace. One with a tracking device inside. Or I should microchip her. Maybe that’d be a bit too much for her taste.
Blue box in hand, blue balls in my pants, I wait for her, all thoughts of where she might be running through my mind. Even a scenario of her being in trouble, which I’m quick to disregard. Trouble doesn’t happen to her when she’s the definition of it.
Summer’s scent surrounds me when I lie back on her pillow. I need her next to me, sharing a bed, fucking her until my dick would rather fall off than surrender, and having her in my arms when sleep dares to steal from our time together.
Half an hour passes by before I decide to text Link, inquiringabout her whereabouts. A nearby off-campus pool is the information he provides. For once, I won’t invade her privacy there.
I grab a pen from her desk and write a short note. The blue box goes on her pillow, my message placed carefully on top before I leave.
