shoulder at Grayson, who’s growing increasingly impatient sitting by herself at the table.
I drove both Grayson and Laken down to Maria’s for the so-called double date I let Wes rope me into. Wes had a last minute emergency and said he’d meet up with us.
Laken sighs. “We knew he was Fem, remember? That whole episode with him hacking off his head and chasing me?”
“He played it off. He used your supposed ‘brain injury’ to make it look like you were going insane. But this is different. I don’t have a brain injury, Laken—real or imagined.” I rock on my feet a moment trying to figure it all out. “I don’t know. I felt like it was some tip-off of things to come.”
“He must know you work for Wes—that you dispose of Spectators. I don’t know why it’s a secret to begin with.”
“Fems only come out if they have to.” I shake my head. “He wanted me to know. There’s a reason—there always is.”
Laken takes a breath before bolting back to the table without a word.
I take it as a cue that Wes has arrived, so I head into the kitchen a moment. Just because I’m off doesn’t mean they wouldn’t appreciate the help. I snap up some chips and salsa for us, and my phone buzzes in my jeans.
It’s a text from Flynn.
H me
H me? Knew it. All the crap he’s pumped into his system has finally dissolved his last living brain cell. If his GPA continues to plummet, he’ll be off the team by midterms.
I grab the food and head back to the table.
Wes sits tall and proud next to Laken with his jet-black wool coat that makes his shoulders look wide as a refrigerator. His dark hair gleams in this low light like its primed for some freaking shampoo commercial. Wes is a dick just like Edinger. Only, unlike Edinger, I doubt Wesley is going to disappear voluntarily. Nope I’m not that lucky. This is one asshole that’s here to stay.
“Here we go,” I say, landing the food on the table. Grayson sits square in the middle, so I have to cozy up beside her, so I won’t fall off. Laken makes a face at my close encounter with her nemesis. “So where were you at?” I knuckle bump Wes from across the table.
“Water polo. Coach made us stay late. A couple of the guys were goofing off, and everyone had to pay.”
“I know how that goes.” I grab a chip and dig in while the three of them examine the menus.
“What do you recommend, Coop?” Grayson dips the low cut V of her blouse onto the table, and her boobs expand to the sides as if they just found a resting place. I can’t help but think it looks as if she just offered herself up as a meal.
“Number sixteen is always good. You get three different things and a side of rice and beans.”
“You really know your way around this place.” Wes cuts me a sarcastic smile. “One day you might even work your way up to head chef.” He pushes out a closed-mouth laugh.
I nod, trying to absorb the fact Wes just openly mocked the shit out of me. One day Wes is going to be running a major corporation, and I’ll probably be selling a number sixteen to Grayson and her fiancé slash manager. I’d like to think I’ll be the one with Laken, though.
“Wes,” Laken says it controlled yet thoroughly pissed. “Coop won’t always be working here. He’ll have to divide his time with all of the other restaurants he’ll own.” She cuts him a look that says cross this line, and I’ll slit your throat.
I try not to glance up at Laken, but our eyes snap toward one another like a magnet, and I smile. I don’t give a shit what Wes thinks about that.
I love you, I want to tell her, but keep my mouth shut for fear of having my teeth rearranged. Besides, we need Wes. I glance at him as he silently fumes at Laken’s rebuttal to his elitist sense of non-humor. Jackass. I like the idea of Laken using him. I very much plan on rubbing it in his face one day. Hopefully soon—like tomorrow.
“I think restaurants sound exciting.” Grayson shrugs like she really doesn’t. “But I think you should own clothing stores—designer labels only of course. You know, Louboutin, Vera Wang, La Perla.”
Wesley gives a dull grin. “So you’re thinking wedding bells, huh?” he teases. “The shoes,