Page 24 of Darcy
Arlo, of course, is harder to read. Now that we’re alone, he’s taken off the glasses, and is pinching the bridge of his nose like thinking is hurting him. A second later, he stops, fishing out his phone.
Is he messaging Dark?
Prophet slams the bottle down, and I grimace as I realise he’s downed half already.
“Ease up, man,” I caution. “This is a good thing,”
We’ve been friends a long time—longer than the others, though not by much—so he immediately glares at me.
“Don’t even think about it.”
I hold my hands up, trying to paste an innocent expression over my smile. I probably just look pained.
“What?”
“Youknowwhat.” He scrubs both hands down his face.
I grin. “Don’t pretend you’ve not thought about it. We’ve been friends with her for years; since way before we ended up here.”
‘Friends’ is putting it lightly. I’m pretty sure all of us are half in love with her, but before now, it was never going anywhere. She’s always been cagey about her real name, so none of us ever dared suggest we meet up in real life.
This is new. This is a chance for all those unspoken crushes to finally lead somewhere.
“And you want to drag her right into the middle of our shitshow,” Dodger accuses. “You’re plotting, Slate, and you’re not even being subtle about it.”
Arlo’s head falls back, and he groans. “Please, guys, not tonight.”
“No, if Slate’s planning something, we should know,” Dodger says, pausing his pacing. “Especially if it puts Dark—”
“Her name is Darcy,” Arlo interrupts. “I got Gabrielle to send her records over.”
Darcy. It suits her. Delicate, but with a hint of steel.
Prophet hisses under his breath.
Dodger groans. “Great. Now you’ve put her on their radar.”
“Relax, I told her I wanted to look over all the new hires, and we’ve taken on over a dozen for this leg of the tour. Fortunately, Darcy’s the only woman.”
Dodger walks up behind him, resting his elbows on the couch as he inspects the file Arlo has got up in front of him.
“It’s her,” he grumbles. “Remember that time last year she let slip she was in Florida? That was apparently a training course.”
“We’re not letting this pass us by,” I insist. “The band contract states—”
“Fuck the band contract,” Dodger growls, stalking off. “We were what? Seventeen when we made that thing up?”
“Nineteen.” Legal adults. “And you signed it.”
By that point, I’d just finished busting my ass through online school to get my degree, and I used all of that knowledge to make sure it was ironclad.
“Worst mistake of our lives,” Prophet grouches.
Beneath my skin, my temper roars, demanding I answer Dodger’s and Prophet’s anger with my own. I won’t.
I learned control the hard way.
“She’s the only woman who could possibly fit.”
