Page 78 of Better Hate than Never

“The only feelings I have when it comes to you, Chad, is pity for every poor soul who’s had to suffer your presence.”

The asshole takes a sudden step toward me. I take a step toward him. Which is when Christopher wraps an arm around my waist and drags me back. “That’s enough,” he growls at the jerk, then he spins us both so I’m settled in front of him, facing Hank, with Christopher between me and Chad the Asshole behind us.

Hank takes that opening and says once again to the butthead brigade, “As I explained, you’ll need to return those paintball guns to your vehicles if you want to play. Otherwise, we do ask that you leave.”

I glance around Christopher long enough to see Chad or Brad or whoever the hell he is curl his lip and stare me down as he tells Hank, “Nah, we’re staying.” He smiles, a creepy, predatory glint in his eyes. “We’ll stash these and be right back.”

As soon as they wander out, I finally manage to yank myself out of Christopher’s grip. “Don’t manhandle me, Petruchio.”

Christopher opens his mouth like he’s about to answer me, but infuriating tears prick my eyes, and I can’t let him or any one ofthose dick bags see it. Spinning away, I stand with my back to him and glare at the ground, blinking until my eyes clear and the threat of tears is gone. Hank answers Jamie’s questions about the history of Peace, Love, and Paintball while we wait for the team of jerks to come back. I’m too angry to hear anything that’s said.

When the bros in black are back, paintball-gun-free, Hank starts to go over the rules, droning on about minimum proximity permissible to strike someone, parts of the body that are off-limits, and other instructions so bone-dry, I’d have a hard time paying attention to his words on the best of days, let alone when I’m fuming.

A sudden nudge of an elbow makes me glance up.

Christopher’s finally looking at me. I hold his eyes, clinging to my anger and hurt.

“I dragged you away,” Christopher says under his breath, “because he’s not worth it, Kate.”

“Gee, I wonder why men keep acting like vile creatures,” I hiss-whisper. “Oh wait, I don’t wonder—Iknowit’s because other men enable them. You should’ve been telling him to shut the hell up and exactly why what he said was offensive; instead, you’re corrallingme.”

Christopher lowers his head, his breath warm against my ear as he says quietly, “I tried, but you got to him first. When I could get a word in edgewise, I told him it was enough. There is a giant paintball field out there where we can make him suffer for his assholery, and I promise you we will. I pulled you away from him because I’m trying to make sure you actually make it out there to put him in his place.”

I blink up at Christopher, a little stunned, right as Hank says, “Any questions?”

Christopher drags down his goggles, then drags down mine, too. “C’mon, Katydid. Time to kick some ass.”

—

I really thought that without the whole firearm aspect of paintball, this would be less stressful.

I was wrong.

Perhaps that’s because Chad and his goons are acting like this is guerrilla warfare. It’s half-ridiculous, half-terrifying, how intense it’s become, with nothing but slingshots to accelerate our paintballs, stray obstacles scattered across the field to deflect them when they fly our way, and this fierce sense of urgency to not get pelted with surprisingly hard balls filled with paint.

So far Sula and Hamza are out, watching grimly from the sidelines, their bodies covered in splotches of yellow and pink paint.

Toni screams as a paintball whizzes by and tackles Margo to the ground, saving her from being hit.

Margo laughs, but it’s anoh shitnervous giggle. “Toni! You okay, bud?”

“This isterrible!” he yells, glaring at a few of the bros in black, who duck when Christopher tugs back the band of his slingshot and rips a paintball their way. It nicks one of them on the shoulder, and he wavers for a second, like he might try to pretend it didn’t happen and stay in the game.

“You got clipped, fucker!” Christopher yells. “Find a scrap of pride and walk the hell off.”

Jamie sighs. “This was supposed to befun.”

“It’s not very fun,” Bea admits, crouched beside him.

“We gotta spread out,” Toni says, glancing around, looking rightfully paranoid about being ambushed.

Jamie grimaces. “He’s right.”

“If I didn’t want to beat these caveman turds so bad, I’d say let’s call it quits,” Bea grumbles, “but I really want to beat them.”

“You?” Jamie says, grinning as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “Competitive?”

Bea flashes him her full, bright smile. “Just a smidge.”

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