Page 92 of Thorne Princess
We waited for Stassia to emerge from the quickest shower ever recorded. Once excused, we retired to the garage, where we popped beers and sat in front of a huge flat screen TV, tuning in to a baseball game.
“What brings you here?” Lawrence took a pull of his beer. “And please spare me the you-missed-me bullshit. We see each other exactly two times a year—both when I’m in Chicago for business.”
Law was a sports agent and did very well for himself.
“I’ve got a job in your neck of the woods.” I scratched my stubble.
“You travel all around the US and never made it to suburbia.” Law chuckled. “Whenever you show up, it’s because you wanna talk.”
Other than Lawrence, I never talked to anyone about anything. Tom was great, too, but he was too geographically close to me.
Looking around, I shrugged. “Your place is depressing.”
“Spill it out, then, sonny boy, and get outta here.”
No point in postponing why I’d come here. I needed to get my ass kicked.
“I made a boo-boo.”
“How big?”
“A wound shot?” I rubbed at my forehead, frustrated.
“Juicy.” He rubbed his hands together. “I’m listening.”
“I almost fucked the ward yesterday.”
Lawrence’s face broke into a huge grin. “That’s great news, buddy.”
Had he lost his grasp of the English language?
“Did you hear what I said?” I sat back, my leg jerking impatiently. “I nearlyfuckedmy entire operation, and an almost-underage girl in the process.”
“It’s the first time you ever lost control.” Lawrence toasted the air with his beer. “She must be special.”
“She’s special, all right. A special kind of nightmare,” I muttered.
His eyes widened with delight. He created a square with his fingers, aiming them at me. “That’s a Kodak moment if I’ve ever seen one. Ransom Lockwood, enamored. Looks like she’s giving you hell, too. I already like her.”
“She’s a child,” I spat out, as if it was Lawrence who stuck his finger into Brat yesterday, not me.
“How young are we talking here? Twenty-five? Twenty-three?”
I averted my gaze to his parked Chevy Suburban.
“Dayum!” Lawrence cackled, enjoying the show. “Eighteen?”
“No, you gross ass. Twenty-one.”
He whistled. “Rules are meant to be broken.”
“So are your bones, if you keep making light of it.” I peeled the label off the sweaty beer bottle, wondering if Max had adhered to my warning and kept his hands to himself today. I would tear him limb from limb if he crossed the line again.
“What’s with you? It’s not like you to get your panties in a twist about a woman.” Law turned off the TV, swiveling toward me. “Truth is, I’m kind of relieved someone managed to penetrate the surface with you. I was starting to worry your ass would never settle down. Nothing gets to you.”
“Beer does.” I raised the empty bottle in my hand. “Grab me another one.”
Law leaned down, seizing another beer from the cooler and hurling it my way. I caught it mid-air.
