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“Wanna come out and discuss why you’re here? Or were your plans to hang out in a public bathroom stall for the rest of the day?”
“Have the angry villagers dispersed?”
“All of them with the exception of me,” he replied, with one arm holding the stall door open.
He watched a sheen of mottled red erupt over her face, along with a tinge of indecision.
Unexpected.
Coming across an indecisive Birdie was the equivalent of spotting a rare unicorn. Not the rainbow kind, with a fanciful horn and a pristine coat of white fur. Nope. This particular breed of unicorn was dark and, God help him, enticing. More apt to ram its horn up your backside when you least expected it than to trot around with unrestrained joy.
She was brash, opinionated, and ran headlong into bad decisions with the force of a four-hundred and seventy-seven horsepower engine.
“I’m looking for my daughter,” she said, unmoving.
“You meanourdaughter. Mia?”
She finally met his gaze, hers full of concern. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine.”
He witnessed a wash of relief soften the rigid lines of her body. Without responding, she tiptoed out of the stall, having to turn sideways to slip past him, her shoes making the most unattractive sound.
She glanced down at the offending attire. “I found myself attempting to change a tire on Highway 95 last night. In a rainstorm.
“Looks like the rainstorm won. You look like shit.”
No she didn’t, but she brought out the worst in him. Always did.
“You should know, Dookie Lukey,” she said, bending over a sink to check her nonexistent lipstick.
There she was. There was the little adolescent she-devil he knew and reviled so much.
“Seriously?” he asked. “We’re going to go there? Fine, I can play your infantile games,” he said, with his hands in his pockets as he leaned toward her. “Bird the Turd.”
He wasn’t sure why he was lowering himself to her level, but it felt good to be able to say exactly what was on his mind and to not hold back. Even if it was in the form of an age-old nickname that originated from the rungs of the monkey bars of Wayward Elementary’s school yard.
“Funny, for a girl you refer to as fecal matter, you certainly didn’t mind having sex with her.”
What was that look? It was almost as if she were angry at him. What the fuck?
Lucas blinked several times and swallowed. She always went a step too far, saying the worst things while stirring the biggest cauldron with as much eye of newt as she could possibly find.
Pinning her with his eyes, his hand batted the side of his leg, reminding himself to maintain decorum, remain calm.
Do not show anger. Don’t allow her to rattle your cage, Santos.
“You, of all people, should know that everything that happened that night, was against my will.”
She gave him a sardonic look. “So that’s what you’re going with?”
“You tell me. The next day, at the very tryouts we were all celebrating, they made everyone take a drug test. I failed.”
He saw it. A moment of doubt. A smidgeon of discomfort. This was clearly new information.
For him, it was vindication. But not as much as he would’ve thought.
“You slipped me ecstasy and cocaine, Birdie,” he said, his eyes momentarily narrowing, his voice with a menacing tone.
