Page 142 of Ice Me Out

I snapped out of my trance.

“I’m sorry, Vera. But can you repeat that one more time?”

Her shoulders sank as a heavy sigh slipped out. “Be honest. Are you about to start fanboying?” she asked with an exhausted look on her face like she had seen and heard it all before.

I should lie to her and tell her no, but Obsydian Fucking Trip? How could I not?

“Two minutes. That’s all I ask,” I said, holding up two fingers. She stared at me for what felt like an eternity, then nodded.

“Two minutes.”

I aggressively leaned across the table, knocking over a glass of water. “What the hell do you mean your cousins are Obsydian Trip?”

She scoffed. “You’re doing too much, Hart. They’re a pack of feral loser dreadheads who happen to have a shred of talent.”

I gasped and jerked away from her. “How dare you?”

She shrugged. “I said what I said.”

I pointed at her. “I know what’s happening here. You’re jealous. And you know what? I can’t blame you. I would be jealous, too.”

She crossed her arms and shook her head. “I’m not jealous.”

“Your body language says otherwise,” I insisted.

“I’m not jealous.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “Tell yourself whatever you need to hear to help you sleep at night.”

“You are literally my biggest opp right now.”

We shared a laugh before she politely informed me that my two-minute fanboy session was about to expire. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

“What would you like to know?”

“They’ve never shared where the name Obsydian Trip has come from.”

“Because they’re weirdos.”

“Probably. Where did it come from?”

Vera’s lips twitched into an amused little smile that made me want to grab her and kiss her, but I needed to focus. Which was hard to do considering my girlfriend was probably a siren—nothing would surprise me at this point.

“It’s very simple. They’re Black, and they’re triplets. Obsydian Trip.”

My mouth gaped slightly as I fell back in my seat. “They’re Black, and they’re triplets,” I mumbled eventually.

“That’s it. It’s not about blacking out after doing drugs or whatever conspiracy theory the public made up.” She pointed. “Also, don’t say shit.”

“I wouldn’t,” I said immediately.

“Good.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” DeAndre announced, entering the patio with the next course.

“You’re interrupting.”

Vera swatted me with her napkin and mouthed for me to behave. “Don’t listen to him. Also, the croquettes? I need twenty of them,” she complimented.