“Ten bucks or show your tits,” he says, like it’s all the same to him. Probably is.
I pull the twenty out of my pocket and hand it over, and he hands me my change and the beers a minute later. I take a sip and step away to let others take my place. The beer’s shit, but at least it’s cold. Since I don’t want to push my luck with Royal right now, I start in that direction. My absence has no doubt been noted, but showing up with a beer for him might smooth things over.
I’m almost out of the crowd when a guy bumps into me, making my beer slosh over the side of the cup and down his shirt. I’m about to snap at him when I look up and find myself staring into the smoky bourbon eyes of Zephyr Hertz, street art genius, neighbor down the street, and former partner in Dumpster diving and thrift store hunting.
“Damn, if it isn’t Harper Apple, my little prodigy,” he says, hugging me with one arm while he holds a joint between two fingers of the other. “I was about to bitch at you for spilling beer on me, but I guess you get a pass. Where you been, girl?”
“I was about to bitch at you for making me spill my beer,” I say, smiling at him with genuine happiness. “And I think you’re the prodigy. Maybe you meant protégé?”
“Still a smartass who thinks she knows it all,” he says, toking on his joint.
“And I’m assuming you’re still a denizen of the night and the bane of all the cops in town,” I say. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Right?” he says, holding out the joint to me. “You drop out?”
I hold up the cups currently occupying both hands, and he holds the joint toward my lips. My first instinct is to pull back when anyone gets in my space, and Zephyr sees me tense, but he doesn’t get all butt-hurt about it. He knows me. He accepts my defensiveness and respects it, the same way Blue does. They get it. They’re my people, from my world, people who understand boundaries and don’t push them when it’s not their place to do it. And yeah, it keeps us all from ever getting too close, but that’s our world.
I swallow and meet Zephyr’s warm eyes, and I open my lips. He puts the joint between them, and I take a couple puffs and then turn my head away, coughing.
Before I can recover from coughing and answer, a strong arm wraps around me, pinning me to a huge, muscular body. Royal. Of fucking course. He needs to check his possessiveness at the door. He should know he doesn’t own me and never will, no matter how many declarations he makes. Just like he can force me to my knees, but I’ll never bow to him.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls at me, but his eyes are locked on Zephyr.
My former spray-paint mentor is way too cool to get flustered by the fire blazing in Royal’s eyes. He takes a puff on the joint and smiles. “Hey,” he says, jerking his chin in recognition. “You’re Royal Dolce.”
“And who the fuck are you?” Royal’s words drip with ice, and he tips his head back so he can look down at us through hooded eyes, that asshole move that’s meant to intimidate but drives me crazy, so I’m not sure if I want to throttle him or ride him. Preferably both, at the same time.
Zephyr, apparently, does not share those conflicting urges. He only shrugs. “Zeph,” he says. “Zephyr Hertz, actually. My dad is Thomas Hertz.”
“And let me guess, he’s a big fan?” Royal asks. “You’re too cool to ask, obviously, so you’re going to pretend you want an autograph for daddy?”
“What?” Zephyr asks, his friendly demeanor fading behind a look of confusion and disappointment. Then he shakes his head. “You know what? Never mind. I’m nobody. I was going to talk to you, but I won’t bother. See you around, Harper. Drop by if you need more of this.” He raises the joint and then turns and walks away without a backwards glance.
I pull away from Royal and turn to glare up at him. “Are you going to be an asshole to every single guy I talk to?”
Royal just glares back at me. “Why are you talking to a single guy?”
“Um, maybe because he’s my neighbor and a friend.”
“Did you fuck him?”
I sigh and hand him his beer. “Why are you so obsessed with who I’ve fucked? I don’t ask you every girl at this party you’ve fucked.”
Royal looks around, scowling at the crowd. “You want to know who I’ve fucked?”
“You know, I really don’t. You don’t owe me shit. You’re a big boy, you can stick your dick where you want. Not my concern.”
He looks down at me, an asshole smirk twisting his full lips. “Not what you said when that chick tried to get a ride after the race.”
That chick. He either doesn’t remember who it was, or doesn’t care.
I hate myself for feeling anything about that fact.
“That was a long time ago,” I say. “I’ve come to my senses since then.”
Royal steps in so he’s towering over me, his eyes burning with intensity, like there’s no one else, no party going on at all. Just us. “Deny it all you want, but you’re a jealous bitch, Harper Apple. So I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t see a single girl here I’ve fucked.”
Crossing my arms, I rock back on my heels, cradling my beer. “You haven’t fucked a single girl here.”