Page 178 of Broken Pieces
As we head to the door, I roll my eyes, but then I spot the table by the window.
Liam.
Of fucking course.
There he is, all varsity swagger and leftover ego, camped out with his two brain-dead shadows—Connor and Bryce. Same matching haircuts, like their barber gave them all the group discount for douchebags.
Cassie follows my gaze. “Jesus. I didn’t realize rats came with the fries.”
Liam grins, too wide, teeth flashing as if he thinks he’s charming. “Hey, Sky.”
I don’t answer.
“I didn’t know you were applying here.” His voice carries loud enough for the whole place to hear. “You planning on getting my order all nice and wet for me?”
I keep walking.
Bryce wheezes with laughter, already halfway to choking on his fries.
Connor mumbles something crude, probably about my mouth or my ass.
Cassie flips him off without hesitation, her middle finger standing proud. “Your face looks like a sunburned scrotum, Liam.”
I grab Cassie’s wrist before she can say more.
“Don’t. Not today.”
She turns, fire blazing in her eyes, jaw tight. “He can’t keep getting away with talking to you like that.”
I push open the door and step out. I keep walking, head held high, every step measured, refusing to give those assholes the satisfaction of knowing they got to me.
I can still feel their eyes on me. The way they stare isn’t curious. It’s ownership. The kind that makes your stomach twist and your skin crawl.
Cassie falls into step beside me.
“You know they’re not gonna let up,” she says after a few blocks.
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do. They are obsessed with you. It’s fucking gross.”
“They’re just assholes,” I say, voice clipped.
“No, they are the assholes who think “no” means try harder.”
I don’t answer because she’s right.
Everyone knows what they do at parties. How they corner girls when the music’s too loud and the lights are too dim. How they wait until someone’s too dizzy to stand straight. When a girl says no, they laugh, as if it’s a joke.
They run in a pack, feeding off each other’s arrogance, untouchable because their dads play golf with the sheriff and their moms host charity brunches.
Cassie sighs, dramatic as hell, then perks up like someone just handed her a shot of tequila.
“Okay, but real talk now. Are we celebrating your rise to burger royalty with fries or ice cream? I vote for fries. With cheese. And bacon. And zero shame.”
“Zane,” I say, before I even realize I’m thinking it out loud.
She pauses mid-stride. “Huh?”
