RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,53

If I weren’t in such a monster of a bad mood, I might feel sorry for him on account of his awkwardness. My mood being what it is, however, I have no pity for him. He’s done this to himself. I’m putting out some blisteringly negative energy, and he made the decision to come over here and bother me. If he gets second degree burns from my withering stare, then that’s on him.

“My—my name’s—it’s Tom. Tom Petrov. That’s my name. And I just—” He puffs out his cheeks, blinking rapidly, shaking his head. I notice that he’s got a split lip. Looks fresh. Resetting himself, he steps forward and holds out his hand. “I’m Tom. Nice uh…to finally meet you. I just came over to introduce myself and to offer my services.”

I release him from my tractor beam stare, spearing a piece of undercooked carrot onto my fork, ripping it from the tines with my front teeth. Tom jumps when I bite down and the carrot crunches loudly. “I’m having a bad day, Tom. I’m probably not gonna be into the services you’re so kindly offering.”

“Oh, really?” He fiddles, picking at his fingernails. “‘Cause I heard Carina saying you broke your phone and you were gonna have to wait until next week to get it fixed, and I—well, I fix phones in my spare time, so…”

My fork clatters down onto my lunch tray. “You fix phones,” I say. “You fix phones?”

Tom nods. “Screens mostly. Sometimes I need to pull data, though. It can be tricky to get absolutely everything off a device. Did—did you drop it in water?”

“No. No, it just hit the floor pretty hard. It won’t even turn on.”

Tom nods. “Is it brand new?” he asks. “If it’s brand new and I replace the screen, it’ll void the warranty.”

“New to me. Not brand new.” Dad makes out like he’s giving me one of his fucking kidneys every time he replaces my cell phone, but I know from the little scuffs and nicks that they’ve always had at least one owner before me. Usually his military aide. He’s never been one to shell out money on something he can get for free.

“Then it’s probably outside of its warranty, anyway. You got nothing to lose, having me take a look at it.

The dining hall’s emptier than usual. People have been cooped up inside all week because of the rain; now that it’s finally stopped, they’re braving the cold and taking their food outside. I love the quiet, and I’m thrilled that I’m not being stared at by thirty people I don’t know the first thing about, but the thing I like about eating in the dining hall? The thing I like the best? Wren and his cronies are too good to eat in here with the common folk. Not once have I seen any of them disgrace this communal area with their presence, which means I’m safe here. I don’t have to worry about snide quips, or dirty looks, or a face so fucking pretty and evil that it makes me want to weep.

Wren would probably get a kick out of my inner conflict. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he’d be rubbing his psychotic hands together if only he knew how many traitorous thoughts I have about him every single fucking day.

But…

Jesus, I’ve just spent a solid twenty seconds thinking about Wren when there’s someone standing in front of me, waiting for me to hold up my end of a conversation. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Back to the matter at hand.

Giving my full attention to Tom, I size him up. “What happened to your lip, Tom?”

His eyes round out. “Huh?”

I point my fork at him again. “Your bottom lip. It’s split wide open.”

He touches his fingers to his mouth like he was unaware of the injury. “Oh! Oh, I was lying in bed this morning, looking at Instagram, and I dropped my phone. It hit me in the mouth. Stupid right? You ever done that before? Hurts like a bitch.”

I clear my throat, giving him another once over. “Why are you being nice to me? We’ve never spoken before.”

He shifts from one foot to the other, clearing his throat. “Well, I’d hate to crush any ideas you might have had about my philanthropic spirit, but, well, I get paid for this kind of work. I’m here on a scholarship, so…”

Oh, come on. I am such an asshole. It’s easy to forget that not every