Page 13 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
I frowned as I pivoted around on the stool. My gaze landed on the same four guys from the other day. I gave each of them a once-over. When my eyes met his, I froze, wishing I could turn around and pretend I’d never looked over in the first place, but I wasn’t going to be the first to break contact. The alpha in me wouldn’t let me. Besides, the way he was looking at me, like he could tear through me without permission, made me want to prove him wrong. He broke first, because his friend slapped his arm, pointing toward a booth they’d found. My eyes followed their movement and I watched him pick the side to sit in, the one that gave him full vantage of my seat. I turned around, drained my drink and stood up.
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
“No, but I want to switch seats. I don’t like that my back is facing the door.”
“Hm.” Her lips pressed together as she nodded. “I can’t turn my back to anything anymore with all the mass shootings, though from this angle, I’d probably be shot straight in the chest.”
Her comment gave me pause. I stared at her, horrified for a moment as I picked up my bag. It wasn’t an odd conversation to have. Unfortunately, things like mass shootings happened and since we’d reached the point that the average person knew someone or of someone who’d been personally involved in one, conversations about them were at a peak. The casual way in which we spoke about it didn’t make it any less weird though, as if it was just one more obstacle we had to hurdle over. As if it was the norm. By the time I was sitting down on the other side of the bar, away from wandering eyes, my mood had soured entirely. Lana had disappeared from this campus and that hadn’t been a shooting. Someone had taken her without consent. Someone kidnapped her and in turn, she’d vanished without a trace.
“Are you afraid of anything?” Hailey asked, spinning around to where I was.
“Definitely shootings,” I said. “And confined spaces. I hate confined spaces.”
“Yeah, those suck.” She looked up and walked over to a new customer.
I looked at my phone and saw a text from my brother.
Linc: Stay away from all of those people. This is not a drill.
My eyes stayed on the words as if they were going to rearrange and change into something else. This is not a drill is something we started saying to each other as kids—when our parents were walking to our rooms and we knew we were going to get caught on a late-night phone call, when our brothers were closing in on us playing spies with our walkie-talkies, when we had a boyfriend or girlfriend over and were in our rooms while our parents were out and they were getting home. This is not a drill was serious.
The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle as I felt a presence looming behind me, so I clicked the side button on my phone and glanced over my shoulder. It was the rude guy I’d bumped into—Fitz was what Hailey had referred to him as. He took a seat beside me. I tore my gaze from his and noticed his left hand was covered in a white wrap, blood seeping through the bandage where his knuckles were. My eyes snapped back to his.
“Let me guess, someone bumped into you and made you angry.”
“Are you stalking me now?” His lips curved.
“Don’t you wish.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time a beautiful girl followed me around.”
“Rest assured. This beautiful girl will never follow you around.” I stared at him. “Why did you come over here? Did you get tired of your agreeable minions?“
“I don’t have minions, I have friends, and they’re not as agreeable as you think.”
I leaned forward, setting my elbow on the bar and resting my chin on my hand. “Did you come over to apologize to me for being rude?”
“I wasn’t the one who bumped into someone without looking.”
“What a crime.” I cocked my head, my hair cascading over my left shoulder with the movement. “You did bump into me on purpose the other day though.”
“Well, I’m sorry about that.” He raised an eyebrow.
“What? You expect me to clap for you? You shouldn’t have bumped into me in the first place.”
“Neither should you.”
“That was completely different. I was—“I stopped talking and took a deep breath. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I apologized, you apologized. Let’s move on.”
“Okay.” He looked even more amused now. “What’s your name?”
“I’m not sure I want to tell you.” I pulled back, sitting up straight.
“I’m just asking out of courtesy.”
“Out of courtesy?” I swiveled my seat to face him, my knees tapping his as I turned. “Meaning, you already know.”
