Page 65 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“We’ll see about that. I’m going to go grab some gum, want anything?”

“No, but hold up,” he says, pulling some cash from his pocket.

“I can get my gum,” I tell him.

“I’ve got your fucking gum,” he forcefully places a twenty in my palm. “Put the rest on this pump.”

“Okay, Grinch,” I mutter, getting out and heading in. After grabbing some spearmint, I put the rest of the cash on his pump number and head back out. Just outside the door, I’m stopped short when I see Thatch in a standoff with some guy on the small sidewalk patch of island between pumps. Posture-threatening, Thatch’s hostile gaze flits toward me as I quickly approach.

“Come on, man. Don’t be a dick,” the guy he’s squaring off with says. “It’s been a long time.”

Following Thatch’s murderous gaze, when the guy catches sight of me, his grin morphs into something more sinister. The sight of it nauseates me, and I know instantly that the threat this guy is posing isn’t at all physical. He’s inches shorter and a lot less built, though dressed immaculately. His new Timberlands gleaming in comparison to Thatch’s tattered black boots. It’s clear he has history with the preppy douchebag taunting him, and it’s not good. But it’s the roll of the asshole’s eyes over me which tells me all I need to know and has me hastening my steps to get to Thatch’s side. “Ah, I see why you were trying to get rid of me so fast. Who’s your girl?”

“What’s going on?” I ask, hating Thatch’s expression and the vibe coming from him.

“Get in the truck, Serena,” Thatch orders without looking my way, positioning himself subtly in front of me.

“Or, you could stay out here, and Thatch could introduce us—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Thatch delivers in a tone I’ve never heard, “and it’s not like that.”

“No,” he taunts. “So, she’s not yours?”

“Oh, I’m his,” I hiss. “All his.”

Thatch exhales a low curse as the guy’s eyes light up. “Until next week, and you trade up, right, Snatch?” The asshole shakes his head at me as if I’m delusional. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but my man here isn’t the faithful type. He’s fucked a lot of prime pussy in this city. Oh ... wait, this is too good. You didn’t know—”

“Shut the fuck up, Daniel. Serena, get in the truck.”

“Yeah, Serena, get in the fucking death trap.” Daniel drops all bullshit pleasant pretense, his new demeanor downright hostile. “Tell me something, asshole, if you think you’re so much better than me,” he kicks Thatch’s bumper. “Why do you drive this piece of shit when you could be riding like me again?”

“Fuck off, Daniel,” Thatch warns again, and I can feel the tension rolling from him from the other side of the truck where I hesitate, hand on the handle. Unsure of what to do, I decide not to add to his stress. Just as I climb into the cab, Daniel swiftly situates himself in front of Thatch’s driver’s door, blocking him from getting in.

“Don’t fucking take this there, man,” Thatch hisses.

“I think you owe me an explanation, asshole. I think you owe us all one. So quick to fucking ghost us, but we were in this shit together. Aren’t you going to at least say hi?” Daniel nods to the driver’s side of his car—or rather his Porsche. Thatch briefly eyes the girl sitting in his passenger seat through the windshield, and I follow his gaze to see her eyes already glued to Thatch. A possessiveness starts to take hold, Daniel’s words already searing me as Thatch looks away just as quickly.

“Don’t remember your girl? Well, not much has changed. Pussy’s still fucking good, but she’s got a mouth on her,” he imparts smugly as if she’s disposable. “So, I’m thinking maybe you leveled up—or down,” Daniel eyes me through Thatch’s windshield where I sit with my door cracked, “yeah, no, she’s no fucking model.”

“Say one more word, and I break your jaw,” Thatch delivers with so much venom and promise that I don’t recognize his voice. “Say two more, and I take your nose.”

Daniel lifts his palms in the air in feigned innocence, moving out of Thatch’s way before stalking over to his driver’s door. His last words drifting into the cabin as Thatch opens his to climb in.

“Well, I guess we all move on, partner. But then again, you know I’ll be catching up with you sooner or later. I always do. See you, Snatch.” His sickly grin finds me through the windshield. “And you too, ‘all his’ Serena.”

Daniel’s departing wink sickens me before he slams the door of his Porsche and tears out of the parking lot. Thatch follows suit, wordlessly starting his truck up to do the same. I don’t bother to voice my objection, knowing it’s futile, as Thatch barely acknowledges the traffic lights before pulling right back into my driveway.

My prompt to exit obvious, I ignore it, and instead, we idle for several tense seconds as fury continues to roll off him. The tension in the cabin stifling, I refuse to back down from the anger and the burn spreading through my chest.

“I’m trying really hard not to take the bait—”

“So don’t,” he snaps.

“But that was your girl?”

“Not really, no, and it was a long time ago.”

“So I heard, Snatch.”

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