Page 16 of The Games We Play

“Look, we don’t want any trouble,” Jason tries.

“Then go home and leave her here with me.”

Jason attempts to pull me slightly behind him. “We’re in a really public place. It would be stupid to try and take her. We’ll call the police.”

“Do it. But remember, I know who you are. I know where you live,Triple J.”

And that right there is the moment I realize I’m going home with Spark, because it’s safer for Jason, whom I am pretty sure I am never going to hear from ever again.

Jason’s fingers release mine. The first sign I’m on my own.

“Fine,” I say, solving Jason’s problem for him. “It’s okay, Jason. Spark and I know each other. I’ll let him take me home.”

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, the relief in his voice is almost comical.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

Spark pulls out his wallet and tugs two hundred-dollar bills from what looks like a tight wad of them and then tucks them into Jason’s shirt pocket before patting it. “There. I bought dinner. Now off you go.”

With once last glance between Spark and I, Jason practically runs to his car.

“Your taste in men sucks,” Spark says as Jason drives away from the curb without even looking back.

“I’m not even talking to you,” I say as I march off down the street. The pavement is hard beneath the soles of my shoes. I wore them because they made my calves look good, not because I intended to walk home in them.

“Iris. For fuck’s sake, wait.”

I don’t. I’m mad.

He jogs alongside me, then in front of me, blocking me bodily from getting any farther.

“Triple J was a dick,” he says.

“So are you.”

Spark raises his hands in surrender. “How am I the bad guy here? You didn’t know that guy. You were going to let him drive you home. And he didn’t even stick around and defend you when I said I was taking you.”

“He tried.”

“He wilted faster than spinach.”

I hate that Spark is right. “Just let me go home. You officially killed my good mood.”

He catches my chin and tilts my head so I’m looking up at him. His fingers are gentle. “You don’t let guys know where you live in case they are rapists. You don’t let them take you to your house in case they roofied your fucking drink or something. Isn’t this girl safety 101?”

I hate that he’s saying this because he cares. In his own slightly fucked up way of caring. For someone who isn’t used to having anybody do that for her, it’s as welcome as it’s suffocating.

“It was a second date,” I admit, hoping it bothers Spark a little.

I see his eyes widen, and then he takes in my outfit. “Were you going to let him fuck what’s mine, little chick?”

“What’syours?” I shout, even as I melt at my pet name.

Spark shrugs and takes my hand.

I snatch it away. “I’m ordering a ride.”

He leans towards my ear. “I’m taking you home on my bike. I will kill anyone who tries to stop me. So stop being so fucking difficult and come with me.”