Page 79 of Allegiant

“And you’re meant to be the mature one,” the stranger says, his words heavy with sarcasm as he takes long strides into the room. “Way older than me, for example. Someone who knows better than to exchange punches with his brother like some kind of drunk frat boy.”

He drops into the seat beside Wyatt before noticing me. “Shit, sorry. You’re new.” His eyes track over me, and he grins softly. “Hi. I’m Jackson.”

Jackson. Right, that’s Wyatt’s brother. I definitely need a family tree and a map of the house. This entire thing is making my head spin. “Hi. I’m Rowan.”

“Ah, Samson’s…friend.” He waggles his brows at me. “Being given the initiation, I see.”

My brows draw together. “Initiation?”

“Game night,” he elaborates, gesturing to where Cade and Dalton are finally retaking their seats. “Otherwise known as the time when the Buckinghams aren’t the fancy, shmoozing, well-to-do family they present to the world.”

Dalton ignores what Jackson just said as he glowers at him over the table. “What are you doing here? I thought you had finals.”

“Finished last week,” Jackson says breezily, not breaking his gaze from Dalton’s. “Which you’d know if you ever picked up my calls.”

I’m not the only one closely watching the exchange. Every eye is on the two of them. There are even more piles of money being passed over the table.

“Cut that shit out,” Dalton barks as he notices Neo scratching something down in a notebook. “I already told you, you’re wasting your fucking money.”

“That’s right,” Jackson says. There’s no missing the challenge in his voice. “Because Dalton’s far too old and mature for me. As we just saw.”

The tips of Dalton’s ears redden. “I am mature.”

“Really?” Jackson jerks his chin at Dalton. “Because I bet you’ve got something belonging to Rowan in your jacket right now.”

My brows fly up. What?

Samson leans over me to growl in his brother’s direction. “Give it back to him right now.”

Dalton sighs, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. He holds out my phone with a sheepish grin. “I would’ve given it back before the end of the night.”

I take it from him gingerly. “Okay, that’s…weird.”

“It’s a hobby.” Dalton shrugs.

“No stealing from Rowan again,” Wylder barks before turning his glare on Samson. “And put your dagger away. He won’t go near him again.”

I whip my head around to see Samson sheathing his dagger with a grumble. But then my attention is drawn back to Dalton and Jackson, who are bickering over the table in low voices.

“What’s happening?” I whisper in Samson’s ear as the two get louder.

“Fuck knows,” Samson whispers back. The heat of his breath on the shell of my ear has me grateful there’s a table over my lap. “Unresolved sexual tension, I guess. We’ve all got a pool going on whether or not it’ll ever be resolved.”

I study the two of them through fresh eyes. Jackson’s an adult. Early twenties, if I had to guess. Dalton’s probably a decade older, if that. A similar age gap to two of the other couples at the table. Seems weird if that’s what’s holding Dalton back.

But who am I to judge? I’m just a dancer who uses smiles to keep everyone at a distance, and who cares for others because I failed to care for the only person I ever loved.

A loud knocking sound comes from my right. I do a double-take to check that yes, that really is a gavel Ansel is using.

“Wrap it up,” he says cheerily. “It’s Harley’s turn.”

“Fuck yes,” Harley says before smirking at Samson. “Have to say, it’s quite nice to be able to play without you at my throat. Rowan will have to come to all game nights in the future.”

I glance at Samson, my lips twitching. “You’re normally the one causing trouble?”

“Not my fault,” Samson grunts. “It’s Harley’s.”

Harley rocks on the back two legs of his chair, not even attempting to take his turn. “How?”