Page 254 of Out of Bounds

“It’s on me,” Zariah reassured me and dug in her wallet.

"No—sorry, he didn’t tell you?” Sloane beamed. “Ryan came a couple of days ago. His card’s on file. You don’t have to worry about it, he’s already signed everything—"

"We’re not doing that. I’m paying." I folded up my menu. "I’m having water. Zariah?"

Zariah breathed through her nose. “Girl. Wecould…” She stopped herself and shook her head. “Lemonade. Thanks.”

I waited until the waitress left, looking a little more than confused, and settled back against the booth. "I know what you’re thinking. I know you think I’m losing it.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I am thinking that.”

“Well, I’m not. What if we rack up this whole bill and he calls in, right when we’re about to leave, or his credit card declines? Because, Zariah—"

"Kass. Ryan can do a lot of things but would hereallydo that?"

My eyes dropped to my lap.

It was a question I didn’t want to hear. Would Ryan do that? I didn’t know, because anybody can do anything. They can leave at any time. And if I was being honest, I’d only known the man for a couple of months.

Do I know him?

Do I?

"No." I swallowed. "He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do that."

Zariah gave me a long look and flagged down the waitress when she had a moment. "Can we get two lemonades too? Thank you."

I didn’t say anything.

"So…." Zariah pushed. "I’m your best friend and best friends are supposed to tell each other stuff. And…I have something to tell you. I brought you here because I don’t want you freaking out in the dorm. You can’t freak out.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely confused.

As quick as she could, she whipped out her cell phone and flashed the fuzziest photo I’d ever seen. Seriously, that was the bottom of the barrel for photo resolution. In the photo, there were three dudes, dressed in dark clothing, definitely big, muscular dudes—

My eyebrows shot up. “Um…is that…?”

“What you’re looking at right here are the guys who were responsible for that hotel guest who—” she made air quotes with her fingers, “—tripped by the parking garage.”

“What?”

“I know him as iced americano. Youdefinitelyknow him as Henry Miller.”

My mouth fell open.

“Creator ofBird Pants. Yes.”

I shifted back in my seat and glanced behind my shoulder. “Z, I don’t…understand. Are you saying those three are three of the same guys we’ve hung out with practically all semester…beat up Henry Miller?”

“That’s my running guess so far.”

“Oh my god…” I breathed in. “The grapefruit bruise. And…the weird apology. What the hell did Ryando?”

“I forgot about the email.”

I ran my hand through my hair. “The last thing I heard, they emailed me to give this whole long essay about internal investigations.” I whipped out my phone and pulled out the emails. “What did Ryando?”

“No idea. But this is some mafia shit, Kass.”

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