Page 56 of Monstrous Serpent

I lean against the wall, lifting my right leg onto the seat just as the preppy guy walks past again. “When's your next work gig?”

Gig.

Because what else do you call a sex party?

“There’s one Thanksgiving weekend and another right after Christmas. The tips are the highest of the year.” He sighs dramatically. “Last year I got fucked though because I had to help certain people with a certain situation.”

I snort and take a swig of my pop.

Rua throws a pickle fry at me. “Not all of us are about to collect NHL paychecks.”

“Don't remind me.”

“Oh, right. Because going pro is every hockey player's worst nightmare. How do you cope?”

My left knee starts bouncing again. “I mean, the NHL isn't the problem. Who doesn't want to play professional hockey? That's the dream I’ve been working toward since I was like eight.” I'm talking faster now, but I can't stop. “It's just . . . logistics. You know? Like, the logistics of it are—I mean, Philly and Carolina aren't exactly next door.”

“I know you both went through some shit together. But are you two physically capable of being in different cities, or will one of you just stop functioning without the other?”

My jaw clenches.

Some shit?

“We almost died together when we were fifteen. That's not just ‘some shit,’ Raiyne.” I drop my right leg back to the floor, sit forward, then pick at my napkin. “What happens if he loses it? I'm supposed to just be living my dream while he's rotting in a cell because I wasn't there to stop him?”

My phone chimes.

Hunter: On my way back

Me: Everything good?

Hunter: Reyes is taking care of it

Me: Shaw okay?

Hunter: Mostly

My thumb hovers over the screen. I already know he’s tired of me asking, but whatever.

Me: Heard from Jenkins?

Hunter: No

Me: Give me his number

Hunter: No

My nose scrunches, and I growl. The asshole refuses to give me Jenkins’s number because he insists I’m going to start shit. Which, okay, maybe. But I also want to check on Mr. Smooshy. That dog loves me. We have chemistry.

Hunter claims I’ll send a dick pic.

I grin.

Jenkins would lose his shit if I did that. Then again, how long would he blow up my phone for?

Of course, Hunter's running this like a Call of Duty loadout. No improv. No freelancing.

It’s so fucking annoying.