Page 24 of Bound By Them
So I text Danica instead of Rosalind. What are you doing on Saturday?
My phone rings immediately. It’s her. She must be free on Saturday. Perfect.
I grin as I answer. “Hey. I know it’s late notice, but?—”
“Fuck you, you fucking ball-gargling gangster asshole.”
“I—what?” Maybe she misdialed.
“Do one good thing in your life, Edmund Layton, and lose my fucking number.”
I stare at my phone. Is she possessed? What the fuck happened? Last time we talked, she was happily curled up next to Troy after eating my lasagna. “Danica, seriously, what are you talking about?”
But the only answer I get is three short beeps indicating she hung up.
A text immediately comes through: Ball-gargling gangster asshole. She must be especially proud of that insult.
Confusion and annoyance battle for dominance in my head as I dial her back.
The call goes straight to voicemail.
I call again. Same result.
I turn to Troy. “The little brat fucking blocked me.”
Troy
I sit inside a coffee shop facing Isabelle’s Creamery. The scent of fresh grounds surrounds me. It’s seeped into my clothes. Probably into my very pores. I’ve been here for four hours, after following Dani here from her house.
I feel like a stalker, but I’m really just trying to figure out why she lost her shit on Edmund yesterday. I could hear her through his phone. “Ball-gargling gangster asshole.” The gangster thing trips me up. Did she not know, beforehand? I thought everyone knows.
I guess if you aren’t in this life, this kind of shit can fly right past your awareness.
But isn’t Dani in this life?
Maybe she isn’t. She lives with roommates in a small house in Old Thirty-Three, and she works part-time at an ice cream shop. It doesn’t exactly scream “criminal princess.”
One thing’s for sure—she’s testing my patience. I know she saw me earlier, because she flipped me off. Without even giving us a chance to talk about things, she decided we’re the enemy. Edmund’s right, she’s a brat. I’d love to take her to Salt, tie her to a spanking bench, and give her what she deserves.
The bells on the coffee shop door jangle as two teenage boys walk in. I halt my fantasy. This isn’t the place for these thoughts. And Dani hasn’t agreed to any kind of dynamic involving punishment.
I think she’d like it, though. The way she went pliant against my hold that first night makes me think she’d love being restrained. Controlled. Even punished.
My coffee cup is empty. I pretend to take a sip so the barista will stop giving me dirty looks. I guess I should order something else.
I make the trip to the counter. The two teenagers are waiting for their drinks. They evaluate me in their cool-guy way, and they have to move their gazes up, and up, and up to reach my face. Yeah, I’m a brute, I get it.
After I put in my order and pay, one of the teens gets the courage to ask, “What are you, six-four?”
“Close. Six-five.”
He whistles. Before he can ask the inevitable follow-up questions about what sports I play, I turn to check on the ice cream shop.
Dani is leaving. Shit. I turn around so fast, I have to reach back to steady a chair before it topples over.
“Gotta go,” I tell the barista. “You can give my drink away or whatever.”
I bolt from the coffee shop and follow her on foot to where her car is parked. Mine is nearby.
