Page 23 of The Toy Maker

“I’m pretty sure I understand the idea.” I rolled my eyes.

Jason set the toy on the table with a defensive shrug. “It’s a work in progress.”

I leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin resting on my hand. “It’s a bit ridiculous,” I retorted.

His brow lifted sharply, his scoff full of disbelief and maybe just a little wounded pride. “What?”

The words tumbled out before I could bar them in, “You’re building a carnival ride of tongues, and it won’t ever replace the real deal or the suction thing everyone over eighteen has.”

“Everyone?”Crap.

I ran my fingers over the edge of his table, changing the subject. “Do you live here?” I peeped out, words still slurring.

“It’s cheaper than an apartment.”As if he couldn’t afford it. “And you just avoided my question.”

I grinned despite myself. “What question?”

Jason shook his head, exasperated but entertained. “Do you always have to act like a child?”

“I’m not the one spending my free time playing with toys.”

“You sure about that?” he challenged, and our eyes locked.

If part of the job description was being able to withstand his blue eyes cutting into my flesh, I was screwed. Being watched by an audience was one thing, but knowing he would be there too made my heart leap into my throat.

He snapped directly in front of my face, causing me to jump. “Ha,” he said with a smug grin. “You blinked.”

My eyes widened. What a child.

“You really suck,” I grumbled.

He responded without a second thought, “That’s ironic.”

I took a break from our staring contest to glance around the cluttered room. The empty bottle of liquor behind him explained some of his behavior.

I rubbed my hands over my face in frustration. “Listen, asshol?—”

“Why is there ink on the back of your hand?” he cut me off before I could even build momentum.

Damn him.

I stared at the faded writing, scrunching my brows. “It’s my address.”

“No, that’s this address.”Funny how all addresses look alike.

“Oh yeah, I guess it is. Kitty wrote it before she shoved a cock down her throat.”

Jason’s eyebrows rose to the ceiling. “She did what?”

“Don’t worry,” I yawned. “She threw it up afterward.”

He watched me wander over to a cot tucked away in the corner.Cheaper than an apartment but also less comfortable.

“You’re really trashed, aren’t you?” he mused.

“We can’t smash.” I flopped onto the bed with a huff. “You’re the boss.”

Jason sighed, “Alright, you take the bed.”Like he could call it that.“I’ll take the couch.”