Page 37 of Positively Pricked

Zane said, "Good to know."

I didn't know what that meant, but I was beyond insulted. I felt a sudden urge to slap him. In truth, I'd never slapped anyone in my whole life. But if Iwereto get slappy, I decided, I knew exactly who I'd be slapping first.

For once, that person wasn't Paisley.

Unfortunately, it was the same person whose cooperation I now desperately needed, so I swallowed my rage and gave him a pleading look. "Seriously, don't fire him." Somehow, I managed to choke out a single world that stuck like a chicken bone, lodged in my throat. "Please?"

His gaze hardened. "No."

I made a sound of frustration. "Oh come on. There's gotta be something I can say to change your mind."

"No," he said. "There's not."

"Oh, come on." I eyed him with growing desperation. "What? You want me to beg or something?"

He made a forwarding motion with his hand. "If you want to, go ahead."

I blinked. "Go ahead and what?"

"Beg."

I stared in utter disbelief. Was he serious? He couldn’t be. And yet, he didn't look like he was joking. A nervous laugh escaped my lips. "Beg who? You?"

"I don't see anyone else around."

I drew back. "Forget it."

He gave a tight shrug. "Done."

Forget slapping. I wanted to kill him. "So, what are you saying? That if I beg,you'll let him keep his job?"

"No," Zane replied. "I'm saying that if you decide to beg, I'm not gonna stop you."

I felt my gaze narrow. "God, you aresuchas jerk."

He didn't even flinch. "If that's your version of begging, it needs work."

"Oh, for God's sake," I said, "I'm not gonnabegyou."

"Well, there you go." And with that, he turned away, heading up his front steps. When he took the final step, the back of his hoodie hiked up just a fraction, and I stifled a gasp. Tucked in the back of his shorts, I swear I saw what looked like the handle of a gun.

No. It couldn't be.I mean, if nothing else, wouldn't he be in danger of getting the gun all wet? Or worse, shooting his own ass off?

I almost scoffed out loud.Like I'd get so lucky.Summoning up my last remaining shred of dignity, I extended both hands and flipped him the double bird – not that he saw it or anything, since I was technically flipping off his backside.

Still, itdidmake me feel a fraction better as I turned and marched, once again, to my car, where I got inside and slammed the door shut behind me.

Cursing the whole time, I fired up the engine and hit the gas. In a perfect world, I would've squealed out of the driveway, leaving a nice patch of rubber in my wake.

Unfortunately, my car wasn't the squealing type, unless you counted the brakes. So I settled for rattling out of his driveway in my rusty heap, praying like hell for a nice oil leak – anything to make him pay.

As I drove off, I considered the folly of everything I'd done. The only person paying for this little excursion was the security guard – some total stranger who'd given me a break. And now, I needed to warn him, because if I didn't, I'd have yetanotherthing to feel crappy about.

And, like everything else, this was all Zane Bennington's fault.