Page 13 of Killer Confections

He hisses, “Manhattan? That sounds like a nightmare.”

I scoff. “I’ll have you know I love the city. It has its own gems.”

He snorts, tossing the ball high in the air before catching it. “Yeah. Like big fucking rats that could carry you off into the sewers. Or was your favorite part the pickpockets?”

I playfully push his shoulder, a face splitting smile upturning my lips as he laughs at his own joke.

“If you ever develop some taste, let me know and I’ll show you all of my favorite spots in the city.” I say, my voice sassy.

He stops tossing the ball, his hands slamming against the leather as he smirks. “Are you offering to bring me to New York, Short Stack? Seems a little forward.”

My face heats, and I quickly deflect. “Short Stack? Is that the best nickname you can come up with,beanpole?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m far from a beanpole and you know it. I called you Short Stack because you’re short and you have little cakes on the sides of your shoes. I was thinkingof cake layers stacked on top of each other.”

“Oh,” I say, looking down at the embroidered cake patterns on my high-tops. “That makes sense, but it could easily be mistaken for pancakes.”

“Then I guess it’s good the nicknames are for us and no one else,” he rolls the ball, using the back of his hand to keep it steady.

Only for us…

I like the sound of that.

“So,” he begins, “do you like cake—”

“Loxley,” Dalton interrupts us. We were so engrossed with each other, I forgot all about the dodgeball game. “We’re starting.”

“I’ll be right there,” I say.

Atlas rolls his eyes and Dalton looks between us, like he’s trying to piece our relationship together.

“Anyway, do you like to eat cake—” Atlas is interrupted again and I feel my cool mask slipping away.

“You need to get ready for the game. Everyone is waiting for you.” Dalton says, his tone a little more impatient.

I hold back a sigh. “I’ll be there in just a second.” I turn back to Atlas, giving him an apologetic look.

“So, the cake thing—”

“Loxley, the game—” Dalton is cut off mid sentence as a dodgeball slams into his face with a sharp slap. He staggers back, cupping his nose as blood trickles from it.

“We’re fucking talking,” Atlas snarls. “Put her substitute in, and if I catch you around her again, I’ll break more than your nose.”

I’m stunned, my mouth hanging open as the boy nods before hobbling over to the center of the court. There’s a tense pause between us and I remain frozen where I stand.

Atlas waves a hand in front of his face. “He forgot to block.”

I snort, but quickly stop myself as I point a finger at his chest. “No. That’s not funny. I’m not laughing at that. You saidno more fights.”

He blows out air as he looks around the court. “That wasn’t a fight, Short Stack. Trust me, you’ll know when it’s a fight.”

“Atlas Kingsley!” Coach Andy bellows across the gym. He has a hand on Dalton’s shoulder as he presses a paper towel to the boy’s nose. “You’re on the bench for the next hour!”

“Fuck me,” Atlas groans before giving me a shit-eating grin. “I’ll see you later.”

Later?

“What do you mean by later?” I call after his retreating form, but he doesn’t answer as he plops down on a bench.