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They don’t seem unfriendly, but I’m still uneasy. I shift a little closer to Holden, my grip on his jacket tightening.
“Hey, you’re the Richmond basketball player, right?” Another guy, this one in front—the guy closest to us—waves the open beer bottle he’s holding in Holden’s direction.
Some splashes out of the rim, foam fizzing as it hits exposed soil.
“I play.” That’s all Holden says.
“And you’re a real hotshot, huh?”
“Depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
Holden smirks, the expression a strange contrast to the tense line of his shoulders. “No one’s that lucky. Talent and skill show up somewhere along the way.”
“If I put some money on you, would that be a safe investment?”
I already figured, based on the way they’re wandering around in the woods, stoned and drunk, that these guys probably aren’t upstanding citizens or model students. But a fresh thrill of unease runs through me, trying to figure out exactly what their angle is here. Their interest in Holden is especially concerning.
“I’m one player out of five, man. Whether we win depends on a lot of factors, including the other team.”
Beer Bottle nods slowly at Holden’s answer, but there’s nothing stilted in the way his eyes dart toward me. I’m beginning to think it’s all an act—the beer bottle and the easy drawl.
The most dangerous predators hide in plain sight.
If I were alone, I’d be petrified motionless. But I trust Holden—more than anyone else in the world. If anyone is going to get me out of a volatile situation, it’s him.
You weren’t involved. That’s why it’s different.
That’s what he told me earlier.
I’m not sure that applies in a situation like this. This isn’t a rusty ladder. Would he fight these guys? Would he win? The rumor in high school was he never lost a match.
“Next week, against Lincoln. What are the odds?”
“I don’t know,” Holden responds. “Ask a bookie.”
“Again, I’m asking you.”
“Any Richmond player—including me—would tell you we’ll win. If you ask guys at Lincoln, they’d say the opposite.”
The guy who clearly is the ringleader shakes his head. “Not helpful.”
“That’s all I have for you.”
“Come on, give me something.”
I glance at Holden, panicked. His expression is blank, purposefully so. Completely clean of emotion.
It feels like a rubber band is constricting around my chest. Blood pounds, sending adrenaline rushing through my system.
“Don’t you want to impress your date? If you give me any good intel, I’ll even make sure you get a cut of the profits.”
The front guy—the ringleader—takes another step forward.
“What the fuck are you going to do, Nelson?” Holden snaps. Any ease is gone from his voice and posture. He looks like a coiled predator about to strike. He looksdangerous. And a lot more intimidating than the three guys facing us.
I’ve never seen him fight. Never wanted to. But the adrenaline in my bloodstream is a thrill I wasn’t expecting. Random facts I remember from my animal behavior class last year run through my head.
