Page 19 of While You Were Trending

Ginny’s brother is the funniest kind of trouble.

Especially from a distance.

The taller of the two women pins me with a look, and I get a sensation like I know her from somewhere. She has dark brown eyes, black hair, and she’s wearing a pink tracksuit. She doesn’t ask who I am or why I’m here, but instead points to a row of white folding chairs. “Yes. We need a hand. Carry these chairs inside, and take him with you.”

We’ve met a few times, including last night in the midst of clearing out the barn fire and talking to the fire officials, but I still extend a hand to Ten. “Declan Fox. Good to meet you. Officially.”

He’s in sunglasses and yesterday’s suit pants and he smells like he spent the night bathing in whiskey, but he still grins broadly at me as he grips my hand back and shakes. “Sure. I’ll play. Hello. I’m King Biggadick of Ladiesluffme.”

“He’s usually funnier,” the shorter of the two caterers says to the first woman. The shorter lady has green spiky hair and is wearing sweatpants and a Metallica T-shirt. I’d peg both of them in their mid- to late-fifties.

They’re both familiar.

And not because I saw them yesterday.

“Deny it all you want,” Ten says to her. “I know you love me too.”

She shakes her head. “I’m too tired for you today. Get to work or go home.”

He puts a hand to his heart and staggers. “Et tu, my green-haired beauty?”

It’s almost hard to believe this is the same guy who grabbed Ginny in the barn last night and then kept their mother away from her every time Freida tried to approach her when she was talking to the firefighters and medics.

Almost.

I grab the nearest white chair and fold it. “Bet you a hundred bucks I can put away more chairs than you can,” I say to Ten.

He straightens, then dives for the row of chairs across from me.

I wanted to watch the caterers, but working with Ten—this is even better.

He’s more likely to slip and tell me what I want to know.

What I shouldn’t want to know.

But what I still want to know.

We finish the job in twenty minutes, and despite both of us panting and sweating, we take the next task from the catererstoo, this one putting away the chairs and tables inside the banquet hall.

I pause to set up my phone and record myself though.

Foxy’sgoing therewith being a cleanup crew. Might as well get some footage out of it for my channels.

Or so I tell Ten.

I also want to see if I can trick him into telling me something.

Then watch the replay later for anything I miss.

“Dude, I saw that video you did where you were in the mascot suit at that baseball game and the kid puked all over you,” Ten says as we race each other with taking down the tables inside.

If he knows Ginny hates me and I’ve never gotten over her, he’s not showing it.

And if he notices me craning to listen to the two women anytime they’re within earshot—Olivia and Samantha, Ten called them—he doesn’t show that either.

“You and seven million other people,” I say.

“Know what you should do next?”