Page 69 of Puck Princess

“You ready for this?” Owen asks, helping me out of the car.

I can hear the distant hum of voices coming from the front of the building. On our way to the private lot out back, we passedby the front doors, and there was a line down the block of people waiting to get in. I have the urge to run through the crowd shouting,run for your lives!

“Ready or not.” I stretch my face into a painfully fake grin.

His hand presses to the small of my back. “Regardless, you look incredible.”

I adjust the top, which does nothing to cover my ample bosom. “I’m popping out of it.”

“And the problem is?”

I playfully swat him, and he kisses me before leading me inside. There’s a bouncer at the door, and Owen grins. “Johnny! You work here too?”

“I do now,” he says with little to no emotion. “Santos is scum, but he pays well.”

What Johnny lacks in personality, he makes up for in discernment.

Owen slips him a tip as we step inside.

The Jaguar is a two-story club with sleek black flooring and matching bar tops. Strips of neon red and purple are diffused under the tables and along the walkways. It gives everyone we pass a ghostly, haunted expression. A sign on the wall says,Find what you love and let it kill you.

Charming.

And very Santos-esque.

“It’s pretty?” I offer, looking up at Owen, who is very not amused.

“It’s over the top,” he says flatly.

“Owen! Callie! Over here!” Dax calls out to us from a separate room along the wall. There’s security blocking it off, but they step aside for us. Inside are velvet and leather booths and a private bar.

“About time you showed up,” Heath says, clearly already a drink or two deep.

Lachlan laughs. “We were making bets on whether or not you would.”

“It’s mandatory, isn’t it?” Owen takes the first drink the bartender hands him. “I’m here to support the Scythes.”

“Right. But with Spencer— He said—” Lachlan is backpedaling hard.

Lance steers the conversation for him. “You look great, Cal.” His eyes slip past my shoulder to the door. “Where’s Kennedy?”

“She stayed home.” Owen hands me a cranberry and lime soda, and I take a grateful sip. I may not be able to drink, but I won’t be dehydrated.

“Oh.” Lance deflates a little. “How come?”

“She just had other plans,” I lie.

Plans to not go to prison for murdering your blackmailing, rapist of a teammate.

“Coach probably doesn’t want her ball busting Santos again,” Dax laughs.

I was praying I shut down that feud outside before word spread, but apparently not.

“Can we not talk about Santos for like two fucking seconds?” Owen nurses his old fashioned, his jaw tense.

“We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Santos.” Lachlan, poor dope that he is, looks genuinely confused about why he can’t talk about Spencer.

Before Owen can grind through his molars, Spencer strolls in, grinning ear to ear. I wouldn’t be surprised if he overheard that little compliment. Even if he did, it’ll feed his ego for all of three minutes before he’s out searching for the next high.

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