Page 24 of The Revenge Game
Justin grins. “They treat it like a celebrity making a surprise appearance, right?”
I can’t help but chuckle.
“The first time I saw everyone strip off their shirts and rush to the nearest patch of grass, I thought I’d stumbled onto some kind of flash mob,” Justin continues.
My chuckle morphs into a proper laugh without my permission.
Justin looks proud of himself, and something twists in my stomach at the familiar sight of that golden-boy satisfaction.
But it doesn’t stop the words from spilling out of my mouth. “The thing I’m finding hardest to understand is the food names,” I say. “The first time someone offered me bubble and squeak, I thought it was a children’s TV show.”
Why am I doing this? Do I want to prove to Justin that I can be witty too? As if somehow making him laugh now will make up for all the times he laughed at me?
But I can’t help my flush of satisfaction when Justin does laugh.
His laugh is different from what I remember, lacking the sharp edge that used to slice through me.
“Bangers and mash are what tripped me up,” he says. “It sounds like a punk rock band.”
“What about toad in the hole?” I ask. “Like, who looked at sausages in batter and thought, ‘Ah, yes, this reminds me of an amphibian?’”
Justin laughs again, and I fight against the warmth building in my chest.
Because this is Justin Morris, my high school tormentor, not some cute guy in a pub who happens to share my confusion about British food names.
He’s the guy who used to lean against his locker with his football buddies, making exaggerated hand gestures every time I walked past, their laughter following me down the hallway like a twisted echo.
I can’t ever forget that fact.
I quickly drain the last of my beer. “Anyway, I better head back to Xander and Adam. Thanks for the drink.”
Justin looks momentarily startled by the abrupt shift, his golden-boy confidence faltering.
“Thanks for your computer-fixing superpowers,” he replies finally.
We stare at each other for a moment that stretches longer than any moment should in a noisy pub on a Friday night.
I go to push my glasses back up my nose, which is a nervous habit of mine. Only it works a whole lot better when you’re wearing actual glasses, not contact lenses. I morph it into an awkward scratching like I suddenly had an uncontainable itch between my eyebrows.
After that smooth parting move, I turn on my heel and head back to join Xander sitting at a table eating a plate of fries while simultaneously typing on his phone.
From the noises emitting from his phone, he’s deep into a game of Dragon’s Sphere. The portal activation sounds are mixed with the distinctive roar of an Elder Dragon, which means he’s up to Level Nine.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my breathing.
Okay. Let’s look at the positives. I survived another interaction with Justin without raising his suspicions. He now thinks of me as just Drew, the mildly competent IT guy who saved his presentation and makes awkward small talk about British food.
And okay, he was all nice and charming toward me, but I already knew Justin had a charming side. I was just never the recipient of his charm. That’s why it’s left me so flustered.
My phone buzzes, and I fall on it like it’s my savior because I want distraction right now.
It’s a message from Leo.
My flight lands on Thursday at 11 a.m. at Heathrow. Do you want me to just catch a cab to your place?
That’s probably best. I can’t take any time off work. I’ll leave a key out for you.
Oh, that’s right, you’re “working.” How’s Operation Revenge going?
