Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Maverick
A fter our eventful cage-diving outing, we were too exhausted for dinner, so we went back to the room and crashed. We woke up this morning, had breakfast together in the dining hall, then separated for lunch. She had plans to eat with Eve and the girls, and we would meet up when they finished.
So please tell me why I walked into the atrium and spotted Frankie and Ice Pick as they sashayed toward one of the lounges? And day three had started out so well.
I hurry to catch up to them before Ice Pick spills too many beans. He’s denser than fruitcake, so I’m not necessarily concerned that he’ll discover Frankie’s secret, but he’s bound to reveal all of ours. I catch them just before they enter the lounge.
“What are...” I gulp air. The mad race down the flight of stairs left me winded. “What are you two...up to?”
Frankie slides her arm from the crook of Ice Pick’s elbow, and my blood pressure lowers slightly.
“As the girls and I were finishing lunch, Ice Pig showed up and asked if we’d like to go to a speed dating event with the”—she glances around—“Normies. The girls are all in relationships, so they declined, but I’m free as a bird and figured it might be fun. ”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” My gaze slides from Frankie to Ice Pick, then back to Frankie. “I mean, the Normies are...and we are... You get what I’m saying, don’t you?”
Frankie cocks her head. “No. That would require you to use words.”
Ice Pick chuckles beside her, and what a team these assholes make as they turn and start into the lounge.
I reach out and grip Frankie’s arm, stopping them from entering. “Do I really need to explain why it’s a bad idea to mingle with the Normies? Jim intended for us to do just that, but I’d prefer to stick to our own.”
“Don’t be a killjoy, Maverick.” Frankie rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but act your fucking age. Live a little. Throw caution to the wind and give a middle finger to the consequences. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, yeah?”
I don’t know how I feel about this new version of Frankie. The experience last night seemed to unlock some unhinged part of her, and I think I’d like to shove it back in its box now. I wanted her to loosen up, not completely come undone.
But it doesn’t matter what I think, because she wrinkles her nose in a snarky smile before turning back to the lounge and stepping inside. Speed dating isn’t my idea of an afternoon well spent, but if I want to keep an eye on Frankie, I guess this is what we’re doing.
I catch up with them at a table lined with pens and paper name tags. Ice Pick scrawls his name on a tag and slaps it on his chest. Only then do I realize that he’s gone with his government name, which is...
“Chad Smith?” My eyebrows rise up my forehead. “I never really pictured you with a name at all, but Chad Smith?”
He pulls me aside as Frankie searches for a working pen. “I didn’t want to write Ice Pick and make the girl feel bad for calling me the wrong name. She seems nice, and I don’t want to embarrass her.”
“So you made up a name?”
His mustache twitches as his lips curve into a smile.
“Nope, that’s my name. It’s a family name, you see, passed down through the generations.
My great-great-great grandaddy, Chad Smith, was pretty famous.
If you’re wondering if that’s who I’m named after, it sure is!
” His grin widens as if he’s just told me a sneaky secret.
Meanwhile, I have never heard of Chad Smith. Or rather, I’ve probably heard of so many Chad Smiths that the name is synonymous with familiarity. For his sake, however, I widen my eyes and act impressed.
“No shit? I never would have thought.”
“Well, I don’t like to tell many people. I’d hate for someone to think I was bragging.” His expression sobers. “Let’s just keep this between us, though, okay?”
I zip my lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”
Frankie joins us, and I snag a quick glance at her name tag.
“Gina Tagliano?” I lick my lips and read it again to be sure.
“If he can be Chad Smith, I can be Gina Tagliano.” She flicks her finger toward Ice Pick’s name tag, not realizing that this is his actual name and not the most generic thing he could come up with.
“You gotta pick a funny name too,” Ice whispers. “We can make a game out of it.”
And now he’s playing along. Fuck my life.
“If I have to loosen up a bit, so do you.” Frankie nibbles her bottom lip and nudges me toward the table.
Yes, fuck my life indeed, because that flirty look is all it takes for me to bend at the waist and scrawl the name Leviticus Deuteronomy. “Weird enough for you?”
“Leviti—you just wrote books of the Bible, jackass. Here, give me that.” Frankie snatches the pen from my hand and sets to work. Seconds later, I receive my new name.
“Chester . . . Copperpot? Why does that sound so familiar?”
She slaps the nametag onto my chest as Ice Pick giggles like a schoolgirl beside her. Before she can answer my question, feedback squeals through a microphone and a perky blonde steps to the front of the room. We listen as she squints and grins and gives us her spiel.
“If she pours on that sweet act any thicker, we’ll drown,” Frankie whispers beside me.
“Sure as hell beats pretending to be Chester fucking Copperpot, whoever that is.” I shift my weight and continue “listening” to the rules of the game. “What was the Sinner activity this afternoon? I’d rather be doing that.”
Frankie turns to face me, no longer caring about the woman at the head of the room. “Remember when you wanted me to try? Just a little? Maybe you could do the same. Maybe we can both benefit from seeing how the other half lives, hmm?”
She keeps her voice low so that Ice Pick can’t hear her, though I don’t think that’s an issue. He’s actually entranced by the blonde. And now that I think about it, maybe this wasn’t the best activity to take him to. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to wooing women.
It’s too late to back out now, though. The doors swing shut behind us and the lights dim as the blonde jangles a little bell and instructs the men to take a seat. My heart squeezes in my chest as Frankie— Gina —gives me a flirty wink before joining a gaggle of women near the blonde.
Ice Pick and I do as instructed. The little tables are far enough apart that the private conversations remain private, but he and I sit as close as we can.
I fully understand the risk we’re undertaking, and Ice Pick seems to at least grasp the need to stick together.
Frankie, on the other hand, chats with the women as if she belongs with them.
And that’s when I remember that she does.
She isn’t one of us, and Jim’s little science experiment won’t change that, even if she’s playing nice now.
A lavender sheet of paper rests on the table.
This is how I’m meant to keep track of my dates, but it might as well be Frankie’s vagina because I have no plans to do anything with it.
The little bell rings again, and the women take their positions at the various tables, with instructions to move counterclockwise around the room.
I’m not surprised to see that we have a surplus of men, but that means Ice Pick and I will need to wait a bit before any ladies swing our way.
I turn my attention to the room. While I’m just sitting here, I might as well make use of my time.
We haven’t taken out any of the Normie agents yet. They don’t stick out like sore thumbs in a crowd of Normies, though. It’s much more difficult to spot them in this setting.
While analyzing the men and women, my gaze keeps returning to Frankie. She offers easy, relaxed smiles to the first two men, but her eyes hold no interest. As she scrawls something on her notepad, I’m dying to see what she’s written. What does she think of these men?
Why the fuck do you care, man ?
I don’t know. But I do. And that’s a fucking problem.
I nearly jump out of my skin as a woman drops into the seat in front of me. With a reluctance that scares me, I tear my eyes away from Frankie and give this person my full attention.
A laugh springs into my chest, but I shove it down with sheer willpower.
If Eighties were still alive, this would have been his perfect partner.
Her red hair belongs firmly in a Whitesnake video, and that electric-blue eyeshadow isn’t doing her any favors.
The woman smacks a wad of spearmint gum that fights for its life amid a cloud of cigarette aroma as she holds a hand toward me and offers a breathy, “Hey, I’m Twilight. ”
Twilight might want to lay off the Pall Malls.
I accept her handshake—and make a mental note to find the nearest hand-sanitizing station—before offering my fake name.
“Chester Copperpot?” She smacks the table and giggles. “You’re funny.”
Unsure how to respond, I blink at her. “Yes. So what do you like to do in your free time, Twilight?”
“We don’t really want to talk about hobbies, shug. Let’s swap room numbers and move things along.” A puff of stale air accompanies her hoarse southern twang. “I take it in the ass, shug. Raw.”
She grins, putting her yellowed teeth on display, and I want to run away. Far, far away. Instead, I clear my throat.
“As tempting as that offer is, I think I’d rather shove my dick in a flaming pile of elephant shit.” I smile at her. “Raw.”
Twilight jerks backward as if I’ve slapped her.
This isn’t a shining moment for me, and I’m usually more polite, but this woman repulses me.
The sooner she moves out of my orbit, the safer we’ll all be.
Thankfully, she rises to her full height—which extends by an extra three inches, thanks to her hot-pink heels—and storms out of the lounge.
I lean over my sheet of paper and scribble my thoughts.
Twilight aka Peggy Bundy: Not interested. Smells like a smokestack and looks like a nightmare. 1/5
The man Frankie is seated with stands from his seat and excuses himself. He probably wants to chase after that raw anal. Some of us need it more than most. She looks at me and shrugs, and we share our first telepathic joke with stifled giggles.
I lean over my paper and scribble something else.
Frankie: Interested against my will. Smells like fresh mint. Looks like
I can’t finish the sentence on the paper, but I can in my head. She smells like fresh mint, and she looks like something I struggle to put words to.
She looks like my downfall.