“I drink already,” Miles says. “And getting wasted has never been my ideal way to pass the time.”
“So what’re we doing here?”
“They’re having a barbecue. I figured I could introduce you to my academy friends.”
Ah. Now it all makes sense. No wonder he didn’t tell me where we were going beforehand. I’ve been avoiding his academy life like the plague—I don’t trust cops. How many times do I have to tell him that?
“It’ll be fun,” he says.
I let out a long exhale. I’ve been to parties before, but I doubt this party will be anything like the mobster strip clubs and gambling houses I’m used to. Now those were insane parties. A good deal of drugs will make anything a form of entertainment, and there was enough sex to meet the definition of an orgy three times over.
What’re we going to do here? Stand around and make small talk while we all slowly die of boredom? I guess that’s the price I’ll have to pay for a normal life.
“Fine,” I say. “Let’s get this over with.”
I go to exit the car when Miles puts his hand on my leg. I stop and face him, but I have to turn my head all the way thanks to my blinded left eye. It’s going to take some getting used to.
“We can go someplace else if you want to,” he says. “We don’t have to stay here if it’ll upset you.”
“It’s your birthday. You decide what we do.”
Miles smirks. “Well, we’re already going to do what I want later tonight. I was hoping you wouldn’t be in a foul mood up until then.”
“Heh,” I mutter. “Is that what you’re worried about? Forget it. I’m not a birthday kinda guy.”
“When is your birthday, by the way? You’ve never told me.”
“It was last month. The eighteenth.”
“Seriously?” Miles asks, a hint of anger in his tone. “And you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m not into birthdays. I haven’t celebrated mine since I was fifteen.”
“So, you’re thirty-seven now?”
“Yeah. What’s it matter?”
Miles grips my pants leg. I get anxious when I’m not entirely sure what’s going through his head. Is he upset? No man stops the march of time—I’m going to get older each year—and I’m not sure what he wants from me.
He takes a breath and lets out a strained exhale. “You should tell me these kinds of things. I want to know them.”
“All right,” I drawl. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Thank you.”
We both exit the car and walk up to the solid wood door of Logan’s house. The sounds of people emanate from the backyard, and I hear a steady beat of music playing from an overworked speaker. The door swings open before Miles can even knock, and the moment I see who it is, I once again get on edge.
I swear I can’t escape Rhett’s smug face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“MILES,” RHETT says. “It’s good to see you again.”
Miles smiles. “Rhett. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“I didn’t think I’d have time, but my schedule cleared up. Come on in. Logan is in the kitchen getting the rest of the food prepared.”
The house is filled with the sweet and savory aromas only a chef can bring. I didn’t think I was hungry, but now it’s the only thing on my mind. The house itself is well-loved, with worn-in furniture, a million pictures covering the walls and end tables, and small toys for children tucked in the corners. The mismatched color scheme tells me the owners aren’t rich—they pieced this place together when they had the funds to do so.
“Hello!” a man calls out from the kitchen. Before anyone can respond, he walks out into the living room wearing an apron that reads “Don’t be afraid to take whisks.”
I guess it fits, because the man is fairly hefty. He sports a handlebar mustache too, which is odd, but I’ve seen crazier things from druggies who think they’re also hairdressers when the moon is full.
The man walks right up to me. I get nervous and tense—I don’t know this asshole—but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
“I’m Logan,” he says. “You must be a friend of Miles?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Logan,” Miles interjects. “This is my boyfriend, Pierce.”
Logan lifts his mini handlebar mustache eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, really! Bring it in, then! It’s so good to finally meet you!”
I hold out my hand, but Logan pushes it aside.
“I’m a hugger,” he declares as he wraps his arms around me in a tight embrace.
Gah—what is this fruit loop doing?—I remain stiff until he releases me, and then I take a step back and sneer. “Good to meet you.” The man’s embrace reminds me about the bruises left over from my fight and car accident. I should have brought some painkillers.
“There’s a barbecue in the backyard,” Logan says as he motions to the back door beyond the kitchen. “And I’m almost done with my home-style beans and bacon. Get out there and mingle! Everyone’s been waitin’ for you!”
“Thank you,” Miles says.
He walks through the kitchen, and I go to follow, but Rhett holds me back. I give him a warning glance, but he maintains his hold.
“Miles,” Rhett says. “We’ll be out in a second.”
Miles gives me a brief look before nodding. He walks to the backyard, and I hear a chorus of greetings. I guess I’m glad I missed out on that. I don’t want to meet any more huggers.
I walk with Rhett to the front living room and wait for him to say something. He wouldn’t try to provoke me in the middle of this party, would he? Seems low class for him, but I guess I don’t know him that well.
He mulls over his own thoughts for a moment, and I’m forced to wait. The guy sure did dress up nice for the occasion—black slacks, a form-fitting button-up. He takes care of himself, that’s for sure.
Rhett finally turns his full attention to me, a look of intensity most reserve for fighting. “Are you actually trying to dig up evidence against these
