Page 115 of Forgotten Sacrifice

God, now I’m the one with the Vince-isms.

“Don’t even think about it,” Vince tells me, now standing at the doorway.

Slamming the bottle down, I shake my ass to a chair and sit. I put on my headphones and open up my laptop, pretending to be engaged in a game so I can hear what’s being said.

Kat and her friend walk to the other side of the room and have a side conversation, but I’m too far away to catch any of it.

The door opens, and in walks the boss of AC holding a takeout bag and two coffees. Fabio no sooner places everything down on the entrance table when Kat jumps into his arms. The two attack each other with their mouths.

I glance over to Vince; we hold eye contact before I dart my attention back to my computer screen.

“Vince, thank you. I’ve got it from here,” Fabio says when he comes up for air.

“No problem, skipper. Luna,” Vince calls to me, and I put my laptop in my bag and follow him to the door.

“Bye, Luna. Good luck with your tournament,” Kat tells me.

“Thanks.”

I’m silent on the way home, wondering what it would be like to kiss Vince the way Kat kissed Fabio—with reckless abandon.

Forget reckless abandon. Vince and I haven’t even shared a chaste peck on the lips. Not that he doesn’t want to; he’s made it perfectly clear he wants my lips. I glance over to his side profile, Vince lost in his own thoughts.

He’s so handsome and funny and annoying and thoughtful and controlling…and oh my God, I think I know whatitis.

“What’s the scowl for this time?” Vince catches me staring at him.

“Nothing.”

“Why won’t you kiss me?” he asks.

Because it’s the only defense I have left in this game between us.

“Why won’t you tell me how you lost your eye?” I counter.

He’s silent.

“Yeah, I thought so.”

Chapter

Forty-Three

Luna

“May I present the largest arcade in the state of Nevada,” Vince announces as he holds open the door.

“Wild times in Vegas,” I tease him. We landed earlier, settling into our hotel and grabbing a quick bite before tomorrow’s tournament.

“You’re not old enough to gamble, but even if you were, I still wouldn’t let you throw money away.”

“So sports bettors are throwing money away?” I challenge him.

“Put the clawsaway; we’re having what the kids call a good time.”

I cringe. “What have I told you about that phrase?”

He laughs, ushering me inside. We play it all: air hockey, basketball, pinball, with me still sucking.