Mav’s on his feet in a second flat, his fists already swinging. Royal dodges aside and slams a fist into Maverick’s jaw. Mav stumbles back, then dives forward. Before he can close the distance between them, I jump in and slam a palm against each of their chests, shoving them back.
“What the fuck, Royal?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he says. “What the fuck is about accurate. Why were you showing this guy your pussy?”
“I’m outta here,” Mav says. “I don’t need to fight over a girl. See you around, babe.”
He turns and disappears into the crowd. Royal yanks me around to face him, his grip biting into my shoulders, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Answer me.”
“I wasn’t showing him my pussy,” I say. “I was showing him my tattoo, which he was only interested in because he’s a tattoo artist.”
“I know what Maverick is,” he snaps.
“You do?”
“Everyone knows Maverick,” he says, giving me a long, calculating look. “Did he give you that tattoo?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Did he also give you that black eye?” he asks, his voice steely.
I scowl up at him. “No.”
“What happened?”
“Where’d you get that bruise on your jaw last week?”
We stare at each other a long minute. My heart thuds in my chest, and I think for a second he might admit it, that he fights.
“Football,” he mutters.
“Really?” I ask. “Because I was thinking you got it at the Slaughter Pen. What I don’t understand is why. You’ve got all the money in the fucking world.”
His eyes harden. “What about you? Where’d you get the money for a tattoo that big?”
“We’re friends,” I say. “He did it for free.”
I try to step around him, but he steps in front of me to block my way. “You fucked him, didn’t you?”
“How is that your business?” I ask. “I don’t go around demanding a list of all those golden pussies you’ve wet your dick in.”
“You did,” he says, glaring at me. “I know how that asshole operates. If you don’t have money, you pay with pussy.”
I try not to let his words sting. It’s true that Mav fucks a lot of girls he works on, but that’s because he’s an artist, and he’s inspired by his muses.
Isn’t it?
Or am I really such a sucker that I fell for that line? Maybe he kept coming back on occasion because I was easy, because I never asked questions or demanded commitment. Sex with him was fun and uncomplicated, with no expectations from either of us. But the truth is, I didn’t want more. I accepted him for who he was. He didn’t use me any more than I used him to get some cool ink.
“Well, you always said I was a whore,” I say to Royal, shoving past him, my throat tight. “Don’t act so shocked that you were right.”
“Harper,” he calls, but I don’t turn. I’m smaller than him, and I can slip through the crowd toward the center, where a handful of cars have stopped doing doughnuts to line up. A strong hand clamps around my upper arm, turning me around again. I notice some WHPA kids watching, whispering, thirsting for gossip. All eyes are always on the Dolces.
“What are you doing here?” Royal asks. “Did you just come looking for a hookup?”
I shrug. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”
“You’re racing,” he accuses. “You’re just a little badass trifecta, aren’t you?”