Page 22 of Feed Your Fiends

Diamonds aside, it's why I ensured Stassi came with me. She’s his weakness and my voice of reason.

“Besides,” Stassi says, her amber eyes wide and molten as she peers up at him. “You said you’d grant me three birthday wishes. Whatever I want, you’ll give it to me, right?”

Hale doesn’t hesitate as a raspy whisper leaves his lips. “Right.”

Three wishes? OfanythingStassi wants? My mind can’t begin to comprehend what’s on her list.

“Well, having my party here is the first one, and time’s running out, Haley.”

Hale swallows in beat to the nickname rolling off of her tongue. “Gant will kill me, Stas.”

“Won’t he kill you either way when you miss your grand opening for Stassi and Zedd’s birthday bash?” I ask. “You said he helped you buy this place. I’m sure he wants a return on his investment too, even if he’s unwilling to give you more money.”

“She has a point,” Stassi says, squeezing his knee, and his eyes fly to the contact.

“Gant will find out.”

“So let him find out after he’s already made back half of his money in one night. You know the crowd Zedd and I can pull in. I’ll promote it all over my profiles with some edits.”

Stassi’s ballroom dancing clips in her skimpy, shimmery outfits are Bradley for Boys’ favourite pastime. And apparently mine, because she’s always jiggling beautifully across my main feeds.

But Stassi’s promise to deliver a crowd isn’t as intriguing as she thinks. Darkness blooms in Hale’s baby blues, turning them nearly navy. Something tells me he doesn’t give a fuck about a crowd if Stassi’s the main attraction.

“Let Elle help you too,” Stassi goes on obliviously. “You already promised her a spot as a bartender.”

Hale peels his eyes away from her for his own sanity and refocuses on me. “When she could walk. I don’t think dissolving our agreement is unreasonable, considering.” He looks pointedly at my wheelchair beside the couch. “Are you returning to Beaulieu after the break?”

That question haunted me every waking hour. How would I keep the fake scholarship I didn’t deserve if I couldn’t dance? Would Beaulieu give me the four weeks the doctor suggested before I was allowed en pointe again?

What would happen once I went en pointe again?

Gant potentially ruined my dance career, but I would ruin it myself if I didn’t return.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I ask, pushing my shoulders back. “I’m not afraid of Gant like you. Of course I’m going. Come what may.”

Hale sucks his teeth, but our showdown is cut short by tinkling glass behind the bar. Rie Rie, who’s been around since the old club’s inception in the sixties, is attempting to mix some drinks.

Stassi jumps to her feet with a grimace. “I’ll help her while you hash out the details. Last time, she offered me a shot of dish soap.”

“No drinks for Stassi, Rie,” Hale bellows after reluctantly releasing her. He’d been swirling the ring on her middle finger as she clung to his knee. “It’s nine days until her birthday.”

“Hale—”

“My club, my rules, angel. No drinking. Not yet.”

“Not here if you don’t take Elle’s offer. It’d be nice to have my first taste, here, with you.”

It takes Stassi’s ass disappearing behind the bar for Hale to spare me a second glance.

“You know,” I say, leaning forward and lowering my voice. “I want the same things you do.”

He chuckles, a slow, rich laugh that tells me how far apart he thinks our wants are. “How would you know what I want?”

“You want to improve your social circles because it means getting closer to Stassi. Not physically closer, but socially, acceptably closer.”

He freezes, his stubbly jaw ticking.

“You want an improved, elevated reputation. I want that too. I’m sick of being the poor bitch reliant on Gant Auclair’s deranged version of generosity. I can’t rely on my mother, who only disappoints me, and depending on minimum wage won’t get me a comfortable life. So, we both want better circumstances, and I want it the same way you do, by standing on my own two feet.”

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