“Are you saying you want to naked bake with me?” I whisper back, just before we hear the sound of footsteps on gravel and turn to see a boy that looks like an older version of Spencer Hargrove standing on the path nearby.
“Jack?” Ranger asks, a small flash of surprise taking over his face before he turns on that signature glare of his. That's when I remember that conversation Spencer and Ranger had during one of our video chats.
“Jack, huh?” Ranger had said suspiciously, just before Spencer gave him a look.
“Don't start on my brother, man.”
Right. Because that whole week that Spencer was missing, he was with his brother, former drug dealer at Adamson Academy, apparent asshole whose parents pay off cops, and holder of intimate Adamson geographic knowledge. He is most definitely a suspect, as far as I'm concerned.
Of course, I'm having trouble concentrating on all of that because I'm a romance addict who can't stop thinking about Ranger's-threats-that-should-be-promises. Flour handprint? Yes, please. I've never been spanked before, I think absently, fidgeting on the loose pebbles of the pathway.
“What are you doing here?” Ranger asks as Jack approaches us, his resemblance to his younger brother startling. They have the same face, although Jack's eyes are much lighter and bluer than Spencer's penetrating turquoise gaze. Jack's hair is a dark chocolate brown that I imagine must be Spencer's natural color, and he's also a good two inches shorter and forty pounds heavier than his brother.
“I was hoping I could talk to Spence real quick?” he says, eyes darting around nervously. Ranger notices. I mean, if my oblivious ass notices, then the dark, observant eyes of my new boyfriend definitely won't miss a move as obvious as that.
“Did you ever consider using a phone to call or text? Or hell, from what I remember, you pretty much live on your laptop. Facebook messenger? Insta DM? Send him a Snap or a Tweet? Post a fucking video on TikTok? Come on, Jack, we both know you're not here just to chat.”
My brows lift up as Ranger turns fully to face Jack, like he's squaring up for a fight or something. I curl my fingers around his arm, digging my short nails into the champagne color of his blazer. Ranger glances down at me, sapphire eyes dark, and then licks his lower lip before glancing back up at Jack. After a tense moment, he curls his arm around my waist.
“I'm not here to start trouble,” Jack says, but he does look a bit sweaty and worse for wear. His baggy t-shirt is wrinkled and his jeans are streaked with dirt. “I just … want to talk to my brother, okay?”
“We'll get him for you,” Ranger says, eyeing Jack like he's suddenly positive that he's one of the killers. He steers me away from Spencer's brother and inside, past a sneering Mark who's sitting on the couch, surrounded by some of his meathead friends.
“Wow, I've heard that fags like to sleep around, but Chuck puts the uck in fuck, am I right?” Mark snickers as Ranger freezes in place, turning his head around to look at the football playing dickhead. Last year, he was the wide receiver on the Adamson football team, but this year, he's the quarterback, taking Eugene's place like he was never there.
“As lame as that sentence is, I'm still going to kick your ass for it.” Ranger pushes the jacket and uniform into my arms and then grabs Mark by his tie, choking him as he drags him over the back of the couch. Without skipping a beat, I whip my phone from my pocket and dial up Church.
“Ranger and Mark, lounge room,” I say without waiting for his greeting.
The other football guys don't seem to know if they should get involved or stay back, giving Ranger enough time to put Mark on his back and throw a hard punch into his pretty little face. There’s definitely a bit of blood on Ranger’s knuckles, and the sound Mark makes … is kind of like a dying giraffe. I mean, not that I know what a dying giraffe sounds like, but it’s high and keening and weird.
Guess that hurt.
“Make another homophobic joke, you prick. Piss me off a little more by insulting my boyfriend. See what happens.”
“Tsk-tsk, Mr. Woodruff,” Church says, appearing like a summoned specter at the bottom of the staircase. Like, he didn't even have to rush to get down here. “Violence isn't the answer, even when dealing with bigots, homophobes, and idiots.”
Ranger pauses a moment as I rub my thumb against the band of my engagement ring, glancing between him and our fearless leader/president.
“You heard him, you psycho. Get the fuck off of me.”
Luckily, the twins and Spencer appear at the bottom of the steps, panting, and ready to fight, evening the odds a bit. Seven of them, six of us, although I'll be the first to admit that I'm a tad useless. I do however, have that pepper spray and Taser on me.
