Page 3 of The Games Gods Play
To look at him, you’d think he’d be a total dick twenty-four seven. Many of the master thieves, like Chance, are. It’s a defense mechanism. Survival tactic. But not Boone. It’s the way he is with the apprentices, a patient guide, that I like the most.
After a second, he sends the apprentice on her way. When he rises to his feet, he searches the area, and my stomach tightens in anticipation. Not that he’s looking for me. No doubt he’s either trying to find his own apprentice—the first girl who already made her drop—or one of the other master thieves.
Despite the fact that he looks right in my direction, Boone’s gaze sweeps over where I am. Twice.
Then he leaves.
I blow out a long, slow breath and watch as he makes his way back through the crowds until I can’t see him and wish, for the billionth time, my mother’s water hadn’t broken in Zeus’ temple the day I was born.
The day I was cursed.
2
It Only Gets Worse
“Holy shit…” Chance barks a laugh right in my ear.
I jump because I had no idea he’d moved closer again, let alone—Hades take the man—right next to me.
“I see it now,” he says in a sly aside. “Lyra Keres, are you in love with Boone?”
His words drop between me and the rest of the pledges nearby like little bombs.
Each one exploding in my chest. Direct hits.
You’d think I’d be immune by now. But can anyone ever “get over” wanting to be loved—but being cursed to never be loved in return? If the pain ricocheting in my chest is any indication, the answer to that is a resounding no.
Ripples of smothered gasps and murmurs loud enough to be heard above the constant noise in this sea of people surge through the pledges, and at least two glance in our direction with wide, curious eyes.
Don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
Unbearably aware of our audience, I stare at the tablet in my hands, humiliation crawling over me like ants.
Damn him.
Escape would be nice, but I can’t just run. Weakness will always be exploited.
Pulling my pride around me like a familiar, tattered cloak, I cock a hip and offer him my most sugary smile. “You have your entire life to be an asshole, Chance. Why not take a night off?”
A few snickers sound from the pledges, or maybe it’s from the total strangers surrounding us, and a vein pulses in his neck. Everything about Chance is pointed—from his nose, to the angled cut of his eyebrows, to his cheekbones, to his knees and elbows. Usually his voice matches. Even when he’s in a good mood, his speech is sharp and clipped.
It’s when he goes smooth and sweet, and his pale blue eyes in his paler face get swallowed by his pupils, that you have to watch out. Like now.
“Do you think he’s noticed?” His words have an edge to them that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “No wonder you always find a way to give him the best assignments.”
“You should be farther into the crowd,” I say, my jaw tight. I’m standing off to one side, slightly up the incline of the mountain, and step a foot to the left as though to get a better view.
Of course, he ignores my attempt at putting some distance between us and steps closer again. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll be sure to tell him the next time I see him. Who knows? Maybe he’ll throw you a pity fuck.”
It takes a lot not to curl over as I absorb that hit.
Oh gods. I’m starting to tremble. Screw it. I’m not sticking around for this. I mutter, “You’re an ass, Chance.”
Tucking my tablet against my chest like body armor, I walk away, knowing that, as the drop man, he can’t follow.
“Nah, I don’t think you could ever be anyone’s pity fuck,” he calls after me. “Someone would have to actually care about you enough for that to happen.”
Every single part of me freezes and then goes blazing hot. Chance might as well have taken out the bow he’s so proficient with and sent an arrow straight through my heart. Clean kill in one shot.
