“You think?” No shit, I guess after us barging in on…whatever he was doing with that Mermaid. Which, if I’m being honest…I didn’t think Kit was the type. But none of my business, anyway, and I’ve got bigger problems to solve.
Like what thehellwe’re doing with this kid.
Pan opens the fridge, and I take a step closer. “Anything she’d like in there?” But as soon as I ask it, I know he’ll have no idea, so I come the rest of the way over and stare in.
He crouches. I crouch. We’re now both crammed in the narrow space between open fridge door and the wall, staring into the glaring white shelves.
But then Pan grins, and this wave of something hits me. Nostalgia, I guess. Like we’re kids playing sardines or something. Hiding from the grownups.
It makes this whole stupid thing feel kind of okay. Fun.
Kind of.
“Dunno.” He reaches in, pulls out a can. “Blue raspberry. Kids like that, right?”
I practically snatch it from him. “Dude, that’s hard seltzer. It’s basically liquor.”
“Okay, so…” Pan scratches the back of his head. “Beer?”
“Dude.”
We’re close, crouched down here. Close enough that I can smell the warm, spicy, slightly sweaty scent of his body.
I swallow very hard.
“What’s the plan here?” I say, my voice a little lower.
“I mean, we could pour her a glass of water, I guess, but I don’t know how clean?—”
“Not for her drink, dipshit.” I give his shoulder a little shove. Warm and firm. Before I think better of it. “For…her.”
Pan shrugs, his face lit bluish-white from the fridge. “I dunno. Hang out until it’s time to make the drop for Krye and take her back on the way, I guess.”
I stare at him. “You want to take a kid on a fucking drug drop?”
“Okay, okay!” Pan widens his eyes and spreads his hands. “So we drop her back first, and then we drop Krye’s stuff. Happy?”
Now he looks right at me. Right through me.
I swallow again. Harder.
“Sure,” I mutter, and throw in a “dumbass” for good measure before I turn back to the fridge.
For a bunch of guys who live like fourteen-year-olds, we don’t have much here that an actual child would like. Energy drinks, White Claws, Tecate…shit. I shove things around—more beer, a flat mini bottle of tonic water, a bunch of ketchup packets that Fox probably left—until I finally find a single can of Coke Zero.
Thank God. I grab it, pop to standing, and head back to the shop.
Wendy hasn’t really moved from the couch. Just paging through some of the art binders Kit keeps like they’re coloring books or something. Looking surprisingly comfortable. She’s still that age where you’re all legs and don’t really look like a little kid but you’re obviously not a teenager yet.
Coltish. Is what Gram used to call it.
I shake the memory away.
“You like Coke, Wendy?” I ask her. Forcing my voice to sound nice. Light. But not too light.
“Sure.” Wendy perks up, then slumps when she sees what’s in my hand. “That’s diet.”
“Is not.” Pan, leaning on the counter, tosses a pen up and down in the air like a tiny baton. “That’s Coke Zero. Completely different.”
