Page 143 of The Games Gods Play
Did I do that? I don’t think so. “The curse—”
Boone leans down—he really is very tall—so that we’re eye to eye and I can see the sincerity in his. “I may not be in love with you, Lyra, and maybe the curse did that. But I’d like to be your friend.”
Oh.
“Really?” I whisper.
His smile is slow and sweet and doesn’t contain an ounce of pity. “Really.”
I’m not sure I believe this. Maybe he feels this way because we’re in Olympus. Maybe this place lessens the effects of curses. I don’t know. Look at how Zai wanted to ally with me. Or at how Meike isn’t any different with me than she is with anyone else. And I’m definitely not invisible here. Although that could be because of Hades. He doesn’t exactly blend in.
Whatever the reason, the part of me that has been craving a friend since I understood that I couldn’t have any, the part that I’ve silenced and ignored and stuffed deep down, feels this. It’s light, like I could float away.
“Okay,” I say. “Friends.”
Boone’s smile widens, turning cocky. “Good. Now, about Dex…”
I roll my eyes, giving him a shove. “We’re returning the helm.”
“Hear me out.” Boone holds up a hand. “Dex sees you as his strongest competition with a dangerous god as your patron. His sister is dying of cancer, which I’m guessing he’ll ask to be healed if he wins.”
I blink. “Wh—what?” Is that right? “How do you know that?”
He gives me a look.
Right.
“In his mind, you are the person between him and saving his family,” Boone says. “Sure, he wants to help his people, but even more, winning means he gets to give his sister and nephew everything.” He points to the ground. “Luxury, longevity, blessings…you name it.”
Instead of riling me up, his words deflate me like pricking a balloon with a needle and listening to the whistle as the air slowly leaks out. I picture Rafe and the way he looks at his uncle. “In other words…” I say quietly, my chin sticking back out. “He has an honorable goal that he’ll do anything to reach.”
Boone stares at me a long moment before spinning on his heel to stalk across the room, then spins back, hands going to his lean hips. “Fine. I’ll return the helm. I know better than to argue with you when your chin does that jutty thing.”
I almost tuck it back in, but this is important. “Good.”
His eyes spark with mischief, and I find myself confused. What just happened?
“Let’s at least take this baby for a spin first. The gods are meeting to discuss something important. We should listen in.”
This is typical Boone. Jump right in with both feet, no planning, just the absolute confidence that it will swing his way every time.
I know he catches the doubt dragging at me when he tilts his head, gaze intent on mine. “You know you want to, Lyra-Loo-Hoo.”
I roll my eyes. “I hate that nickname.”
“I know.” He chuckles. “I started it so you’d have one.”
Just like I thought.
“But then I realized that it makes you adorably irritated and usually lets me pull a couple of your strings.”
I snort. “I doubt that.” But I cross to the helm and pick it up. Brass and formed with a nose plate dividing two slots for the eyes, it’s surprisingly heavy. “But this time I’ll give it to you. Let’s go listen in. Maybe we’ll learn something useful.”
Boone takes the helm from my hands and slips it over his head. Immediately, he disappears. I reach out and encounter a solid, muscled stomach covered by a shirt, and the instant I touch him, I disappear, too.
I yank my fingers back, and I rematerialize. “Wow. That’s handy.”
“Makes this tougher, though.” His voice comes from close. Really close.
