Page 45 of God of War

“Oh.” I consider the steak again and start to carve it in half with my knife and fork. “We can share. Here. I’ll cut you half.”

“Delaney, no.”

And then his hand is there, covering mine and stopping me. He dips his head, finding my eyes, and smiles. The corners of his eyes wrinkle.

“You’re fine. It’s all yours, okay?”

I take a beat, his hand on mine making my throat go tight again, then I nod and keep eating. This time I slow down and make to sure savor it.

Ares orders another drink, this time a beer, and sips it slowly as I finish. He spends equal amounts of time watching me and scanning the bar. I’m not sure what he’s looking for — nobody here knows us, so the threat of Dad finding us here is low. At least that’s what I hope.

“Maybe we could sell the coke,” I say suddenly. Ares whips back to me fast.

“We’re not selling it.”

I shrug and swirl my last bite of steak through the greasy pool slicking the bottom of the plate. “We need cash, right? I figure that’s why you didn’t come back with a car this afternoon.”

“Don’t worry about the money,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve got it handled.”

Oh, God. Did he already take the drugs and sell them? Maybe he went through my bag? I’m hit with a biting surge of anger at the betrayal. The drugs are my bargaining chip and he doesn’t have the right to touch them.

I motion to the raucous crowd, the night finally in full swing. “Look around, it’ll be easy.”

Ares shifts in his seat again, this time rocking forward until he’s bent over the table. He levels me with an intense stare.

“Delaney, we are not selling that coke. Especially here.”

“Why not?” I shove my plate away, forcing him to lean back again so he doesn’t get steak-juice splashed on him. He groans in annoyance and rakes his fingers through his hair. As his arm moves, my eyes flick to the colorful tattoos inked there. They’re a patchwork of symbols, some shaky and faded, some bold and bright. I see a rose with pointed thorns, a black cat, a palm tree and a sun with wavy golden rays. The collection is fuller now than the ones I remember and I wonder what drew him to each design.

“We don’t know if there’s already a dealer who owns this turf,” he says, breaking me out of my stare. “Stepping on toes is not a good idea.”

I slump down, reluctant to admit that he’s probably right. “Fine. Whatever.”

“What’s with the attitude?”

I want to say I don’t have an attitude, but I do. I’m upset that he’s acting like this afternoon never happened. Like something didn’t happen between us. I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t dwell on it. Nothing good will come of it.

“Can I have a sip of your beer?”

Ares sneaks a glance around, probably looking for Shan, then he slides the bottle to me. I pick it up and take a long swig, my lips pressed over the ghost of his.

“Thanks,” I say, pushing the bottle back.

“You drink a lot back home?”

I half shrug and settle back in my chair. My stomach is pleasantly full and even without the comfort of alcohol, I feel relaxed. “Not really. It’s kind of lame to drink alone.”

“A lot of kids party out at the quarry,” he says. His flicks the corner of the peeling beer label with his thumb. “Not that you’re a kid.”

My grin twists wryly. “And what about you? Back when you were my age?”

“Which was not that long ago,” he replies, his look pointed. “We used to go to the field behind the old Harris place.”

“Classy.”

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. Laying out in the bed of your buddy’s truck, blanket underneath you, looking up the stars. Warm from the bonfire… and the girl beside you.”

“Sounds idyllic. Did you have working internet back then or did you get all your porn from a dirty magazine you found in the woods?”

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