63. Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Three
Jordan
My friend is tiny. Easily picked up and carried away despite his raging flair and gargantuan attitude.
So, I wait just outside, my back against the brick and my phone in my hand as a distraction.
Staring at As Above’s socials yet again like a lost puppy hoping for their arrival.
And if the pic of Mac and Dare is any indication … they arrived two hours ago.
“Ready?”
“To leave? Yes.” I push off from the wall and step back in the direction of the gym. Lemon snags my arm in protest and yanks me back.
Then steals my phone and types in my passcode with quick thumbs. His brow swings on me and I sag. “I have a problem, okay?”
He snickers and swipes away the app, locking the phone, and stuffs it into my jeans pocket. “Let’s go shopping.”
“You just did the thing back there.” I point at the building he’s pulling me away from and cringe. “That can’t be normal.”
“Oh, c’mon.” He throws out his free hand. “All we did was make out. I got his number.”
I wing a brow back at him as he wraps both hands around my bent elbow, leading me into the thick of the crowd. “Bullshit.”
“What? Maybe baby wants someone to come home with him, huh?”
“Stop calling yourself that.”
“Reverse psychology, Jay.”
I shake my head and laugh. “That is not how that works. Not even a little bit.”
“Besides,” he goes on, ignoring me. “This is almost like Pride. There’s dick everywhere.”
I snort. “Wouldn’t know. Never been.”
Lemon halts. Turns his head to me in slow motion. “Say that to my face.”
I shake my head.
His gasp is dramatic enough to pull the attention of others around us. “You mean to say that you were following around the gay drum—”
I slap a hand over his mouth.
“Shut up or I’m gonna carry your ass back to the gym.”
His brows bounce.
I roll my eyes and wrap my arm wound his shoulders, keeping my palm against his mouth to keep it shut.
“Shop with your eyes, Lemon, and stop talking.”
He looks at me pointedly.
I level him with one right back until he’s cackling behind my hand.
“Okay,” he finally mumbles and taps the back of his hand to my abs. “Okay.”
I release him and wipe the left-over moisture on my palm down his arm. He squeals and darts away, running right into someone that—
Face tattoos. Piercings. Bent nose.
Oh fuck.
Highlighter orange hair.
Fuckfuckfuck.
“Hey handsome,” I hear Lemon coo, and I spin away. Rip my hat off my head.
Shiiiiiiiit.
I’m stuffing my hat into my pocket when I look down at the band’s logo on my chest and curse again.
I wore it to blend in, even paired it with the holey jeans Lemon made me buy, but now …
It just feels like a billboard.
A giant neon sign.
With fucking glitter.