Page 3 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

NOT THE HAPSBURG JAW

Alix

Sabrina said, “Brian’s going to be so mad.” She giggled, then put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry.”

“Why should you be sorry?” I asked, then tapped Wolf Guy on his very solid shoulder—the green plaid shirt was flannel—and said, “Walgreen’s on Castro Street, for the app.”

“Fine,” he said, and punched it in.

The driver, a middle-aged woman, said, “Sorry, but I don’t get paid enough to wait, and I already did it once. I get paid to drive.”

Wolf Guy said, “OK, giving you a thirty-buck tip right now. That enough for you to wait?”

“That’s sounding better,” she said. “Depends how long it is, though.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Five or ten minutes for us to pick up some ice packs and an elastic bandage, then you drive three of us home. Three different locations. Lots of nice pricey driving. I’m last, which gives you plenty of time to decide you need a bigger tip.”

“Two locations,” I said. “My car’s at Brian’s. ”

“Uh …” Sabrina said. “Maybe I’ll go home instead.”

“Good thinking,” Wolf Guy said. “He doesn’t seem like the nurturing type.”

“Most men aren’t the nurturing type,” I said.

“Well, yeah,” he said, “if you’re judging by those two.”

“Hey,” I said, then stopped.

“You can’t come up with a retort, huh?” he said.

“Probably a first for you, but then, I wouldn’t be able to, either, not after that.

” He had his arm over the back of the seat and was turned so he could talk to me.

It was a nice arm, I couldn’t help but notice.

Nice and broad. Having a thing for forearms is weird, you’re thinking, but his sleeves were rolled up some, and there that forearm was.

Lots of lean, defined muscle, and dark hair.

Strong hands, too. His hands reminded me of my grandpa’s.

And before you say anything, I mean my grandpa when he was younger.

He’s dead, so obviously not now. My grandpa could do things.

“If you’re going to insult me,” I said, “at least tell me your name. Mine’s Alix, and this is Sabrina.”

“Sebastian,” he said. “And I think I was insulting your boyfriend, not you.”

“Fiancé,” I said, because I more or less had to. “And sure you’re insulting me, telling me I’m a bad picker.”

He grinned. Unfortunately, that made him even better-looking.

More wolfish, if you know what I mean. Dark hair, olive skin, prominent nose, and all kinds of lines around his mouth and eyes when he smiled.

Not old lines, but crinkly-face lines. “Well,” he said, “I wasn’t going to say anything, but … ”

“Excuse me?” I said. “You just did say something.”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” he said. “So you’re a student. The oldest student ever.” At a quiet huff from the driver, he said, “That’s not me. That’s what the guy said who wouldn’t take them to get ice packs. Uh …” He looked at his phone. “Tanya. Didn’t introduce myself, sorry.”

“Nah,” Tanya said. “I heard your names. I just didn’t retain. Short memory makes life easier. I’m saying that because you already tipped me.”

Sebastian smiled and said, “True,” even as Sabrina said, “He’s not really a jerk. He’s under a lot of pressure right now.”

“OK,” Sebastian said. “Tanya’s a disinterested observer. We’ll let her decide, since I already know Alix’s opinion. Hope you don’t care what he thinks of you, Alix, because you sure did tell him.”

“He’s my fiancé’s CEO,” I said, “and his friend, so I probably should care, but I don’t.”

“Got that stubborn side, have you?” he said.

“OK, Tanya, we’ll put the facts before you.

Drives drunk.” He ignored Sabrina saying, “He wasn’t drunk, he was just—” and went on.

“Doesn’t care enough that his date sprained her ankle to do anything about it.

Talks loud enough in a restaurant that I know way too much about his business. Drives a … what? I have some guesses.”

“A Tesla Cybertruck,” I said, and a giggle escaped me. I wasn’t much of a giggler, but a Tesla Cybertruck is objectively funny. Have you seen those things? I’d have added, “You might as well slap on a bumper sticker that says, ‘I am insecure about the size of my penis,’” but I have some limits.

Sebastian said, “I rest my case.”

“Because he cares about the environment,” Sabrina said.

Another huff from Tanya, and Sebastian said, “Yep. He’s that guy. Tech bro.”

“The worst,” Tanya said. “Rich guys. Rich tech guys. Them, and drunk girls who puke all over the back of my car. You know what the top fee is for that? A hundred fifty bucks, when it takes me out of service for the rest of the night. If I wanted to be cleaning up after your nastiness, I’d be doing home health care, and I’m not doing that, you notice?

Because I don’t do disgusting, that’s why. ”

“And,” Sebastian said, “because it would wreck your manicure.”

“You got that right,” Tanya said, and extended a hand to him.

“Very nice,” he said.

“I know, right?” she said as she turned onto Castro. “You’re here. I’ll circle the block, but if it’s more than ten minutes, you better be upping that tip.”

“I’ll do that,” Sebastian said. “Circle the block with Sabrina in the back, will you? No reason for her to hobble around on that ankle.” With that, he climbed out of the car, went around to my side, and held the door for me, then took my hand to help me out.

Of course, he got honked at and given the finger by a too-close driver, but still.

Sebastian

“You know,” Alix said as she headed to the sidewalk, “I’ve been getting out of cars by myself for a while now.”

“True,” I said, “but as we’ve noted, it could be icy, and you don’t have much traction in heels.”

“It actually isn’t icy,” she said. “I just said that because?—”

“Because you don’t like bullies. Especially, possibly, rich bullies.” I held the door for her into Walgreen’s, maybe because she’d put her hand in mine to get out of the car. I’d enjoyed it, and I hadn’t been the only one.

“In fairness,” she said, “you were eating in that very expensive restaurant yourself. What does that say about you? With two good-looking women. First-aid supplies are over here.” And headed there, then turned around when I didn’t follow her. “What? ”

“Basket,” I said, and grabbed it. “You’re a decisive woman. And I’m glad you noticed my company. Should I be flattered?”

“No,” she said. “And I come from a long line of decisive women. If it bothers you, too bad.”

“Not me,” I said. “I’m good. That’s why you picked that guy, though.”

She stiffened right up. “You realize the arrogance of telling an engaged woman that she’s picked the wrong man, right?” Some fire in those dark eyes, and, yeah, that red dress was everything.

“Everybody makes mistakes,” I said.

She stopped in the first-aid aisle and grabbed a roll of elastic bandage, then a couple of soft ice packs, dropped them into the basket, and tried to take the basket from me.

I held onto it, and after a second of silent struggle, she let go.

“I’m telling myself,” she said, “that you’re being kind.

That Sabrina listens more to men than to women, so you were the only way she wasn’t riding in that car. Right. We’re done. Let’s go.”

“I’m not kind,” I said, choosing three more items and tossing them into the basket. “I liked your dress and your face and your body and your attitude. I didn’t like the guy you were with, I hated the other guy, and that ankle is definitely sprained. Easy decision.”

“We don’t need those extra ice packs,” she said. “I got enough. I’m ignoring the rest of it. My mom told me this dress was inappropriate. You’re saying she was right. I hate that.”

“No,” I said. “That dress is a knockout. It’s more of a knockout because it’s not short and you’re all the way covered up.

Inappropriate for the convent, maybe, or for the Princess of Wales, but you’re not a nun or a princess.

And you do need these ice packs. You snap them and they’re cold, and it’ll take an hour for the others to freeze.

They all go into this wrap. Fasten it around your ankle, and it doesn’t keep slipping off. ”

She grabbed my instant ice packs, and I said, “Sometimes, you know, the guy is actually just right.”

She still had her hand on the ice packs.

“Actually,” she said, “I am a princess. Technically. Hence my mother’s relentless insistence on propriety, even though it makes no sense.

And I cannot believe I just told you that.

I don’t tell people that. I also don’t enjoy admitting I’m wrong. I’m not normally wrong.”

“Ah,” I said. “That’ll make this uncomfortable, since, yeah, you were wrong.

Consider this, though. You were right about that asshole, and about Sabrina, even if you’re with the wrong guy.

A princess, huh.” I considered her. “Yeah, I can see it. And you told me because you’re feeling like you’re losing.

There’s no winning or losing happening here.

We’re having an honest conversation, that’s all. ”

“You cannot see princess-hood,” she said. “That’s ridiculous. It’s not like I have the Hapsburg jaw.”

“Confidence,” I said. “I do love a confident woman.”

“I’m not with the wrong guy, either,” she said. “He’s quiet, that’s all. Now, if I were with Brian, I’d be with the wrong guy.”

“He’s a pushover,” I said. “Your guy. It’s not a binary choice: asshole or pushover.”

“And you know this how?” she asked. “From your extensive experience of being a woman? He’s successful. He’s independent.” I made a noise in my throat, and she said, “What? Don’t hold back. You’ve gone this far.” She was fired up, all right. Not looking nearly so soft. Looking like, yes, a princess.

I said, “He doesn’t stick up for you. Here’s a thought for you. A man’s supposed to be protective.”

“I don’t need protection,” she said .

“Everybody needs protection. Everybody needs a soft spot, and a hard spot. Somebody to have their back, and to hold them afterwards.”

“Another thing you’re an expert in,” she said. “So are you married? To a woman who’s the perfect blend of independent and appropriately needy? How does that work, exactly?”

“Nope. Let’s check out.” I headed toward the front of the store.

“In other words,” she said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about.” She quickened her pace to dart ahead of me before we reached the checkstand.

“Why would I be paying?” I decided I should point out. “She’s your friend, not mine.”

“Oh.” She paused in the act of setting her phone against the checkout screen as I started tossing items onto the belt. “Because you’re the kind of guy who thinks he’ll impress a woman by insulting her choices and insisting on paying for everything?”

“Hey,” I said. “I’m not the one who’s a princess.

” The clerk didn’t even look up, just kept scanning.

I guess you heard everything in the big city.

“And why would I care if I impress you? I don’t know you.

How about this: I’m giving you the benefit of my disinterested observations.

” She gave me a thoroughly disgusted look, and I had to laugh.

“Yeah, probably not. Never mind. I drop you off, you tell yourself that you like weenie guys and I don’t know what I’m talking about, and you go on and live your princessy life. ”

“He is not,” she said, taking the bag from the clerk and heading for the door, “a weenie guy. And my life is not princessy. How about if I give you my disinterested observation? You act all easygoing, but it’s just that. An act. Because you’ve got way, way too much testosterone.”

“You can’t have too much testosterone.” There was Tanya’s car, loitering in a yellow zone, and I opened the back door and offered my hand again. Fifty-fifty whether she took it.

She took it, and, yeah, I had enough testosterone. “You tell yourself that,” she said sweetly. “See how it works for you.”