I Knew You Were Trouble - Cassie Mae Page 0,32
didn’t really see what he was getting at—that my fears all slide into one giant one: I am afraid to break a rule.
Holy wow, I hired a master, and who’d have thunk it’d be Pete.
He lets out a sigh, his smile sliding from his face. He loosens his hold on me, but his fingers stay on my skin, resting lightly on my wrist. “It’s pretty fun,” he says, trying a new tactic. A laugh bubbles up my throat, but it doesn’t come out. “Hell, I was scared this morning, but I had a good time with that pain in the ass horse.”
My controlled laugh bursts from me in the form of a snort, and a tiny speck of spit flies from my mouth and lands squarely on his chest. My eyes widen, and I quickly swipe it from his blue Troublemakers shirt—we’re in the Zombie Zone today, so we’re both wearing blue.
“Whoops!”
“I wish I could say that’s the first time I’ve been spit on today.”
I snort again, but thankfully I keep my fluids to myself. Thank heavens I have Pete to be completely awkward to so that when I see Zach again, it’s out of my system.
“Sorry.”
“Liar.”
I lift an innocent shoulder and give him a cheesy grin, getting him to crack a smile and tighten his grip on my wrist. “Okay… we’re going now.”
“What about our shirts?” I flourish a hand down my matching blue shirt. “This is the only one I have.”
“Next excuse,” he says, pulling me along the long hallway that leads to the paintballing arena. “We both know they give us coveralls.”
“Still doesn’t solve the hair issue.”
“We’re working the zombie theater. Kids’ll love it.”
“Managers will hate it.”
“And you’re a rebel now.” He winks, and my heart stutters. Have I ever seen Pete wink? Have I ever had a guy wink at me, period? Whoa butterflies!
The stutter flushes all my fun excuses down the brain toilet, and I’m clean out of them when we get up to the desk.
Aislynn is here today. Her bubblegum pink hair hangs just above her shoulders in double braids, pairing well with the bright yellow shirt that the Paint Zone requires. Her eyes light up when they lock on Pete, and she wiggles her fingers in a friendly wave.
“Hey, Lynny,” Pete says, and I furrow my brow. Bubbles erupt on the back of my tongue, twisting my nose upward like I smell something rank. They are on nickname terms? I’ve been working with Pete for two years and I don’t have a nickname.
Then again, what would he call me? Candy?
Ew.
“Hey.” She reaches toward the wall of bandanas behind her. “Doing a round before your shift?”
“Yeah, we”—he tugs me forward and throws an arm around my shoulder, locking me in place—“are doing a round.”
Aislynn’s perfectly painted lips pop open, and I’m guessing a squeal so high-pitched only dogs can hear escapes her. “You’re going to paintball, Candace?”
“Apparently,” I grumble, the corners of my lips turning downward.
“Sweet.” She pulls two bandanas down and hands them over. Of course… we’re on team white. “Have fun!” she says with a wave, forgoing reciting the rules since we both know them. I’ve also signed all the forms—it was a requirement when I was hired.
I remember scoffing that day I put my pretty John Hancock on the paintball release. Like I would ever go paintballing. Oh, eighteen-year-old Candace, how little you knew.
***
The second the siren goes off, announcing the start of the paintball round, I zip to a pile of barrels and park my butt on the floor behind them, leaving Pete in my dust.
We’re against the ugly sweater ladies, and all of them seem like they’ve spent way too much time with their kids this Christmas season and are ready to let off some steam. One lady even pointed two fingers toward her eyes and then at me, like I better watch my back.
All this because I can’t get a little dirt on me? I’ll dive into a mud pit right now to get rid of this pounding in my chest, the shaking in my fingers, and the sudden urge to run to the nearest bathroom.
I pinch my eyes shut and rest my forehead against my weapon. “Please don’t shoot me, please don’t shoot me.”
“We’re on the same team, weirdo.” Pete chuckles from above me, and I feel him slide to the floor, his bulky gear bumping against mine. “You gonna hide out here till the siren rings?”
“Probably,” I squeak. I’ve found my cocoon of safety in the