Page 42 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

“Getting grabbed against your will?” he questions slowly, as if I’m crazy.

I lift a shoulder. “I worked nights at this café on the weekend, and I had to walk home since I have no car. The area was sketchy, even for northside … so, yeah, I’m used to that sort of thing.”

He silently absorbs my words. “Well, you shouldn’t have to be.”

“I know. But it is what it is.”

He traces his finger along his bottom lip. “I’m going to try to find out who did it. I’m not positive if I can, since that isn’t really my scene, but it’s Finn’s. So, if you’re okay with it, I might get him involved.”

“Sure, but it’s not a huge deal if you don’t find out who did it. It’s not like you can really do anything to the person for simply grabbing me for a second.”

He raises his brows as if to suggest otherwise.

“Or maybe not,” I add at the sight of his expression.

“We’ll see,” is all he says before he takes a drink from his cup.

I admire his confidence, but I’m not counting on him being successful with this. I know the drill with these types of issues.

“You didn’t text me,” he says abruptly as he lowers his cup from his mouth.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I got sidetracked by convincing your sister that I couldn’t go to dinner with her and Wren, and then she convinced me to come to this party with her.” Still leaning against the lamppost, I stretch my legs out in front of me, highly aware that the stars are a tad bit blurrier than they should be.

I shouldn’t have drank tonight.

“How come you couldn’t go to dinner with her?”

“I had homework to do.”

“Is that the real reason?”

“Well, partly.” I scratch my arm. “The other part is there’s no way I could afford to go where they were eating.”

“You could always have asked her to go to a cheaper place.” He takes a sip of his drink. “My sister’s nice, I promise. I know she probably comes off as dramatic and a bit pushy—which she is—but she’ll be a good friend to you if you’ll let her.”

“I’m trying here.” I gesture at the house where the party is taking place. “It’s the reason why I’m here. Although, I spent more time with Finn than her … She wandered off the minute we got here.”

His brows elevate. “You hung out with Finn?”

I push away from the lamppost and straighten. “Yep. We played beer pong. Or, well, whiskey pong.”

His eyes search mine. “You’ve been drinking?”

“Just a little bit.” When he frowns, I tap his cup with my finger. “Dude, don’t be judge-y with me.”

“This is water,” he explains then shows me the inside of the cup.

“It could be vodka. Or everclear.”

“Smell it.”

I do. It’s water, for sure.

“I don’t drink. Not during the season, anyway,” he explains. “And I try not to because I’m a terrible drunk.”

“Do you get angry or something?” Like my father does.

“No, I cry, actually,” he confesses with a drop of embarrassment.

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