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“I still can’t track her IP address.” I kick my feet up on the coffee table separating us. “She’s good, whoever she is.”
My friends don’t understand the technical aspect, so there’s no point in filling them in on the details. The Queen is becoming a real thorn in my side. I can’t sleep most nights knowing a girl is getting the best of me.
“Ask your dad, then,” Preston snaps.
I shake my head, insulted by his request. “No way. I’m not getting him involved. I can do it. Just give me some time.”
For starters, my dad doesn’t need to know about The Queen. I also don’t want him to know how hard of a time I’m having breaking through her firewalls. He’d be disappointed. I learned everything I know from him, and she’s testing all of it. Every time I hit a wall, she’s there to laugh in my face. And some part of me respects her for the challenge.
“That’s what you said last month,” Preston says. “Just make the call. If you don’t, then I will.”
I glare at Preston, and he crosses his arms over his chest. The vibe in the room is miserable. We’re all sporting scowls and mad at each other for no reason. The Queen started this, and because of her, our team is feeling the pain. Our game is off, mostly affected by the incident with the twins and Jemma. Somehow, they have managed to rub their bad moods off on all of us over the last few weeks.
We lost our last game. Tucker still hasn’t found a tutor and will most likely fail and get kicked off the team. Trent looks at his own twin as if he hates him. Preston has been up my ass more than ever. He’s like a woman on her period and stressing all of us out.
And then there’s Drake. He’s impenetrable. I don’t know how he never lets anything get under his skin. The only person who seems to be managing that feat is Taylor. She still won’t give in to him, no matter how hard he tries.
This girl’s tearing our team apart, destroying our bond with each post.
“All of you, knock it off,” Trent booms, standing up from the couch. He slides his cell phone back into his pocket and sighs. “There’s no point fighting with each other over something we can’t control. I got enough shit to deal with.” He glares at Tucker, his blue eyes full of hatred, and then he walks out of the living room.
Preston is next to leave. Irritated, I follow behind him, desperate for some air. I hate when Preston challenges me in front of everyone. He keeps pushing me to call my dad for help as if I’m not good enough to track down The Queen.
I will find her.
And when I do, I’ll make her pay for everything she has put us through.
Chapter Eleven
Shannon
I do a double take when a Tesla pulls up out front of the bakery. It’s not often I see expensive cars in this neighborhood. Mrs. Rizzo stops in front of the bay window staring at the man who’s getting out of the electric car. And when he does, my jaw drops.
Jamie steps inside the bakery, taking my breath away.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, somewhat confused.
He smirks, pressing his palms to the long countertop separating us. “And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.”
“I am.” My cheeks flush, my skin warming from his proximity. Jamie has this effect on me every time. “I’m just surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.”
“I couldn’t wait.” He stretches his hand across the counter to cover mine, a fire blazing behind his blue eyes. “I’m too impatient when it comes to you. Actually, I was hoping you haven’t eaten yet because… I made reservations for dinner.”
“How presumptuous of you,” I say, laughing.
Sucking in a deep breath, he squeezes my hand. “When are you done for the day?”
I peek over at Mrs. Rizzo, who’s in shock by our new visitor.
She glances at Jamie and me, a warm smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Go ahead.” She motions her head toward the front door. “I can close up.”
“I’m almost finished icing the rest of the cupcakes.”
“Take your time,” Jamie says. “Pretend like I’m not here.” He moves his hand back from mine. “I don’t mind watching you work.”
My smile mirrors his. He’s so charming and sweet. And he’s here, at Rizzo’s Bakery, of all places. I’m in complete shock and by the looks of it, Mrs. Rizzo’s equally surprised by his intrusion.
Jamie looks at the glass cases that span the small shop. He licks his lips when his eyes land on the chocolate chip cannoli. They’re my favorite too.
“Do you make beignets?” Jamie asks.
“No, this is an Italian bakery,” I say, staring down at the cupcake I’m icing. “We have zeppole, they’re similar to beignets and pretty popular right now with Christmas around the corner.” I point at the case with the Italian donuts.
