She just shakes her head, though, and I look back at the table, my anger rising. She’s thirteen. What the fuck is their problem?
“Are you holding?” some guy asks from my side.
“No.”
He walks off, and I shake my head. It’s fu
Trent rises from the table, walking straight for me. She stops at my side, like she’s ordering from the server. “I’ll have it tomorrow,” she says in a quiet voice. She grabs a straw and reaches over the bar, making herself a soda.
“Dylan,” the bartender scolds.
But I reply, “Now.”
“I don’t have it,” she says.
“Now.” I glare at Blue Eyes, relishing this and hoping I have a reason to hit her. “Or the next time you see me, it’ll be in front of your parents or at school.”
“Screw yourself.” She sips her drink, batting her eyelashes. “I shouldn’t have to pay for bad merchandise. Keep coming at me, and you won’t have a customer to speak of.”
I can’t stop myself. I slam the drink out of her hand and yank her down by the hair.
“Ah!” she growls. “Get off me!”
The crowd howls, people gathering around, and she grabs my legs, throwing her shoulder into my stomach. She rams me into the bar, and I crash into the stools, the wood digging into my back.
“Ugh,” I growl, dragging her to the floor with me.
Scrambling, I grip her collar, holding her away as I flip her over and climb on top.
“Get off her!” someone shouts, a dozen legs moving around us.
Someone grabs at my coat, but they’re gone before I have a chance to throw them off.
“You make everything worse,” a man’s voice says.
Trent hits my face, and I rear my fist back, so happy she doesn’t have my money. This is more fun.
But before I can bring the punch down, someone grabs the back of my jacket with both hands and hauls me off of her. They shove me back and dive down, taking her by the arms and pulling her to her feet.
Dressed in long black shorts, a white T-shirt, and ru
Brat. I push past him, going after her again, but he takes me by the collar and walks my ass backward, setting me away from her. “Back off!” he shouts.
He starts to turn away, but then I see him do a double-take. His blue eyes drop, his dark brow furrows, and he moves my hair away to look at my neck.
I shove his hand away, baring my teeth, but he’s already seen what he needs to see.
He shoots the girl behind him a glare. The long green line inked through the word RIVER vertically down the side of my neck means Green Street.
And now he knows she asked for this.
She looks away from his stare, like she’s in trouble. Like…
He’s going to scold her.
Then it hits me. It’s not her boyfriend. This is Hawken Trent. Her cousin.
Well, well, well, Mr. Class President. Just graduated. Now I remember. He’s taller than he looks in the sports section of the local newspaper.
“Get her out of here,” the blond, whom I realize is Kade Caruthers, calls out.
Both of them are football players. Or Hawke was anyway.
Someone advances on me, but Hawke rubs a hand through his short, black hair. “Wait,” he grits out.
I watch him take out his wallet, seeing the muscles in his jaw flex.
He takes out some cash. “How much?” he asks, not looking at me.