Page 7 of Phobia
I tipped my head down, heat rising to my cheeks.
The line flowed quickly, and before I knew it, we were approaching the box office. When the hyper teenage girls barreled away from the box office, Adam approached, towing me gently with him. He shoved a hand through his shock of mahogany hair, and the nervous elfin of a woman behind the plexiglass shrunk in her seat, cowering.
Her brassy, copper hair frizzed around her forehead; the rest pulled back in a messy, thick braid sloped over the knitted sweater.
“Two,” Adam said.
The girl nodded, punching something into the computer.
“Three,” I corrected.
My husband wasn’t amnesiac, but he was an asshole.
He swung his gaze my way, his jaw popping with annoyance. He wasn’t really not going to pay for Vince, was he?
His scowl softened just a little when I kicked my chin up at him, crossing my arms over my chest, the gesture pushing my tiny breasts upward. His eyes crinkled in the corners with amusement, and he drove his thumb behind him. “I’m not paying for him.”
I dropped my arms, jabbing a finger in the center of his chest. “Don’t be an ass, Adam.”
We didn’t have that kind of relationship with our family. We took care of each other and didn’t split hairs about who owed who what.
Vince’s shadow fell upon the plexiglass. “I don’t need him to pay for me. I’m not staying,” he announced, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.
Huh? Then why the hell had he come?
I tracked his hand as he brought the apple to his mouth. He jutted his chin at her. “Call your boss, Baby Fischer.”
Adam lifted a questioning brow at the demand.
The girl behind the box office’s plexiglass flinched as though Vince had struck her when his teeth penetrated the flesh, her spine growing ramrod straight.
I felt bad for her, even if it seemed like he knew her. Adam let out a pitiful sigh through his nose, his earlier annoyance long gone. Vince had that effect on people. I offered her an apologetic smile, but she didn’t look my way. Her frightened brown eyes lowered toward the desk, her frame curving in on itself like she wanted to disappear.
It was strange how out of sorts she seemed here. Like she was employed here against her will, or didn’t want to be here at all.
Vincent wasn’t helping matters as he loomed closer to the plexiglass, staring down at her like she was a toy left for his entertainment… or his prey.
When she didn’t acknowledge him, he ran a finger against the barrier, the acrylic squeaking under his motion. She cowed deeper in her seat, but she didn’t dare look up at him. Not that I blamed her.
He was taunting her.
“Vincent,” I scolded, taking pity on the scared girl, flicking my eyes between my husband and his best friend. “Quit it.”
Adam let out a snort.
I lifted my chin at him. “That goes for you, too. Neither of you have any manners.”
Sometimes, I felt like a mother hen, nitpicking at the guys to be polite. It was like they didn’t know how to behave in public.They leaned into their pack and delinquent mentality a bit too much, and it was unsettling for people.
Hell, it used to scare the shit out of me.
“Don’t talk to me about manners, Little Rabbit,” Vince rebutted, with his mouth full, swallowing. Losing interest in the girl behind the glass, he studied the apple, lifting his obsidian eyes to me. “Didn’t stop you from getting finger fucked in front of my house, right?” he accused, confirming what I’d already suspected. Vince had been lurking around the car much longer than he had announced himself. He’d intentionally waited until he knew my climax was close, reading my body’s tells like a book.
I gaped at him, mortified. But it was nothing compared to the girl—Baby Fischer, whatever her name was—who looked like she wanted to die on the spot from secondhand embarrassment.
“What did I tell you about calling her that?” Adam challenged darkly, his eyes thinning. He hated anyone else calling me by that nickname. It was only his to use now.“Or watching?”
Vince pursed his lips, blowing him an antagonistic kiss. “But that’s what you kids love.”
