“Huh?” My brain’s a little fuzzy from the rum-in-a-can, but my pulse is caffeine-quick in my veins as I look down at what he’s got. “No, it’s—” I start, then shake my head, because it doesn’t take long for me to recognize what he’s holding.
And…
Shit, I think.
“Thing’s been buzzing all fucking night,” Blue growls. “It yours, or not?”
Because this is the phone Krye gave to Pan. Specifically. On purpose.
“Shit,” I say out loud. “I mean, uh. Yeah, sure.” I put out my hand. “I’ll take it.”
Blue drops the phone and seems to make a point of staring me hard in the eye, like he wants to look at me,intome for some reason.
I pretend not to notice. That’s the only thing I can do. Just take the phone and drop my arm to my side.
And yet…
Maybe it’s that I’m secretly half-buzzed on white-girl cocktails. Maybe it’s that I was just minutes, if notseconds, ago watching this same man about to get himself off on my phone screen.
But something about the moment is too weirdnotto remark on. Like if Idon’tsay something, it’ll seem more suspicious.
So I swallow. “You good, man?”
Blue barely blinks. I haven’t really ever stared into his face for long. Not sure why I would have. Most of the time when I’m around him, he’s either got a helmet on or half shaded in the lighting of the Lagoon. But now, even in the low light of the windowless hallway that spans across the loft and all of our rooms?—
He’s handsome.
No. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fairytale word for someone like this. Someone who does what he does.
But he’s got that broad jaw, high cheekbones that cut in, dark hair and brows against fairly pale skin.
And his eyes…
He holds them on me a beat longer. Cold fire.
Then he smirks.
“Look any longer, and I’m gonna have to charge you.”
But the smirk doesn’t reach his eyes.
Then Blue turns, and the door slams after him.
“Keep better track of your shit,” I hear him call.
Then footsteps, and nothing.
Shit.
Shit.
“Shit,” I say out loud. I bite my lip hard in my teeth and rake my fingertips through my hair. I give my heartbeat five seconds to slow down before I snap back to reality and remember what I’ve got now. I flick open the phone, scrolling on the thing’s pathetic little click wheel to the missed calls with my free hand.
Blue was right: there’s at least a full screen’s worth: no voicemails, no numbers listed, just BLOCKED. I mash the center button with the most recent call highlighted, just to see if it’ll redial, but…nothing. A woman’s voice informing me thatyour call cannot be completed as dialedand that’s it.
Slowly, phone to my chest, I slink backwards toward my bed.
That was close, I think.
