My voice is caustic. “Cork? That’s not even a fucking word.”
“You know what I mean, whatever the opposite of a guardian angel is must have a hand in this. Guardian demon, maybe. Nobody deserves to be forced into marrying you.” Elliot dodges the carrot stick I throw at him with ease and takes another bite. His mouth is completely full, which does nothing to stop him from continuing. “If I were her, I’d tell you exactly where to shove your marriage proposal.”
“That’s just because you have a thing for ass play,” Iain comments wryly.
I have to remind myself that my anger should be directed at Zaya for being so stubborn. Girl doesn’t know a good thing when she sees it. There are about a dozen girls in this school who would be on their knees by the time my mouth formed the M in marry me.
But not Zaya.
Never her.
I could push and push her, but when I hit that wall she has erected around herself there won’t be getting any further. It would be easy to admire her if I didn’t hate her so much.
As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Elliot watches me with a pensive expression.
“Most people would wonder why you let all that shit in the past mess with you so many years later.”
I glare at him. “You don’t have any idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“I would if you ever let us in on this big secret. I heard about how her mom used to bring Zaya to your house and shit. Then one day, you hate each other. What gives?”
Only two people in the entire world know the true story of what happened between Zaya and me. And one of us prefers never speaking again to telling the damn truth.
And a deal is a deal.
“Does it have anything to do with—”
I wing a thick plastic plate at Elliot’s head. He dodges and it bangs against the wall behind him. “If you really want to know, we can take this conversation outside. You know how I feel about gossiping in public spaces.”
A raised eyebrow is his only response. He knows if we go outside that we won’t be talking about anything. Would I beat the shit out of a good friend for asking the wrong questions?
Absolutely, I fucking would.
Elliot just gives me a crooked smile, because he relishes a fight as much as I do. We don’t need an excuse to pummel each other — sometimes you just need to drive your fists into someone. Catharsis, and all that.
“I’m not sure who I should feel more pity for,” Iain murmurs, gaze not rising from handheld gaming device that has suddenly appeared in his hands. “Zaya, or you.”
“That’s easy since you’re not capable of feeling pity for anyone,” Cal says, leaning over Iain’s shoulder to see the screen and wincing as some fantasy character gets beheaded or worse.
Iain only plays games rated for extreme violence.
“True,” he says with a careless shrug.
Elliot turns back to me. “So what are you going to do about this inheritance thing?”
He is like a pit bull with its jaws clamped, just refusing to let shit go. “None of your damn business.”
“It is if you’re going to be all poor and sad in a few months. My family still has some property in the Gulch if you’re going to need a place to crash. But you’ll have to deal with the crackheads on your own.”
“You can fuck right off.” I know it’s a joke, but that doesn’t stop a full body shudder. The thought of living in the Gulch, after a lifetime with a golden spoon in my mouth, has to be the highest form of dramatic irony. If God has a sense of humor, then he is laughing hard enough to give himself a coronary at this point. I would rather leave town and never come back than deal with the shame of it. “That isn’t going to happen.”
“It is, if Zaya Milbourne has anything to say about it. Or not say in her case. Have you even tried being nice to the chick?”
If being nice includes spending a small fortune on renovating her house so it won’t fall down around her ears in the near future. Although, I have no idea if Zaya sees it that way, since she seems to be refusing to communicate with me.
I’ve sent her maybe a dozen text messages on the brand new phone I picked out, but she didn’t bother to respond. The damn thing is even the same color as the lavender gel pens she always uses in class, because I assume that’s her favorite color.
If that isn’t nice, then what the fuck is?
For some reason, her continued silence annoys me more than anything else has up to this point. It isn’t like I necessarily expected obvious gratitude after everything that has gone on between us, but some acknowledgement would be nice.
I tell myself that the hot feeling burning in my chest is simple rage, because anger is an emotion I’m familiar with. It’s practically my comfort animal at this point. I don’t want to explore the possibility that the emotion I’m feeling might be anything else.
“You could always sneak into her room in the middle of the night, assuming you can get drunk enough for it to seem like a good idea without passing out first,” Iain comments, tone droll.
Cal laughs, but immediately sobers when he sees the look on my face.
I’m going to murder them, take us all out in a blaze of glory. That has to be preferable to dealing with Zaya Milbourne right now.
The more I think about it, the more anger becomes the dominant emotion churning in my gut. Who does the girl think she is to just refuse a deal that will benefit both of us? Without my help, there is no way she will ever rise out of the
