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“Cyril’s calling.” Turning my phone around to show Isaac, I watch as his expression goes from skeptical to bemused. He doesn’t look worried like I thought he would. But his reactions are rarely what I think they’re going to be, so there’s probably something to be said about that. He slows the car just a little, just long enough to let out a soft breath.
“Oh. Hmm.” Without asking, Isaac plucks the phone from my hand and answers it, his tone chipper as he says, “Hey, Cy. It’s a bit early for you to be calling, isn’t it?”
I don’t hear what Cyril says, but it causes a chuckle to rumble in Isaac’s chest either way. “Yeah, I know this is Ari’s phone. And Iamon my way to work.”
He moves the phone and puts it on speaker, just in time for me to hear Cyril say, “Please tell me Ari isn’t going with you, Isaac.”
“That’s rude. You’re on speaker, so she can absolutely hear you.”
“Isaac…”Cyril trails off with a sigh. “Are you fucking joking? What in the world do you think you’re doing, huh?”
“Pretty sure it’s ‘take your pretty girlfriend to work day,’ isn’t it?” Isaac hums, innocence in every line of his body and voice. “And Ari wants to go.”
“Do you?” Cy sounds incredulous, but the question is obviously directed at me.
“Well, I did ask,” I say, settling back in my seat. “And it’s not like he had me at knifepoint when I asked him. So yeah. I’d say I want to go.”
“That’s not a real argument since I’m pretty sure you enjoy sharp objects anyway,” the leader of the Lost Boys mumbles. I can hear something shifting around him and wonder where he’s at right now that he can so easily call Isaac and talk about things like this without raising concern or getting a side-eye from anyone around him.
“That’s rude,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, it is. Wendy, what in the world are you doing?”
“Uh, pretty sure your question has already been answered–”
“Then let me ask another way. What the fuck has gotten into you? Has he told you where he’s going?” I don’t answer because he hasn’t and I’m not sure I want to tell Cyril that. I look at Isaac, panic on my face, and he looks at me with the same amount of surprise, as if he hadn’t thought to tell me.
Which is fair, since I hadn’t thought toask. If we’re going to a slaughterhouse or I’m going to be covered in blood today, I suppose it’s my fault for notaskingabout our destination.
Fuck.
“I didn’t think so,” Cyril mutters. “You’re just as bad as him, aren’t you? Rushing into shit like this without a plan or concern for what’s going on.”
It feels like a reprimand, but I can’t help the grin I try to hide by pressing my lips together as hard as I can. I don’t want him to think I’m laughing at his parental disdain.
Though, I kind of am.
“She’s laughing at you,” Isaac says, betraying me and pulling a glare from me as my smile falls at his words. He only smiles back, his eyes flicking to the road a moment later. “Like, she’s tryingnotto laugh at you, obviously. But if you were here, you’d see how much she wants to.”
“Thanks a lot, asshole,” I mutter, my hands curling in the fabric of my light hoodie. “You’re such a good friend. What would I do without you?”
“Be lonely and bored?” he offers, shrugging his muscled shoulders. “Or pine in my absence, probably.”
Cyril lets out another long-suffering sigh. “I don’t care if she’s laughing at me right now. Darling girl, if you aren’t okay with blood and violence, you need to tell me right now so I can come get you before Isaac gets to where he’s going.” It’s probably the nicest and most caring thing he’s ever said to me, so I have to wonder if he’spossessed.
Not that I’ll ask, since I’m sure that’ll be taken as me insulting him next.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, keeping my own voice casual and aloof. “I watched a guy get murdered the other night, remember? Definitely think I’m fine.”
He makes a sound that doesn’t sound like he agrees, and I take the phone from Isaac so he can rest his other hand on the steering wheel. “Whatever,” Cyril mutters at last. “But if this gets fucked up, Isaac, it’s completely your fault.”
“Why can’t it be my fault?” I inquire, cutting him off in what was probably some kind of spiel about responsibility and how I can’t be trusted or something.
“Oh, it is your fault,” Cyril assures me, making my stomach twist. “But that’s for another day. Today, Isaac gets to take responsibility, and he’s already in trouble with me after this.”
I look at Isaac to see his reaction, and I’m surprised to see a smirk curving over his features.
“I know you’re smiling,” Cyril adds. “Don’t.”
