Page 49 of Heart of Thorns

This agreement has put our relationship on a fast track. We’re supposed to be beyondthat. The awkwardness.

She’s right.

While she’s had no trouble blending in with my friends, making conversation, leaning into my side, I am stiff.

I nod, both to her and myself, and readjust.

I tune back in to the story Rhys is telling and casually reach for my beer.

Briar threads her fingers through mine, the hand that hangs off her shoulder. Her nails are even painted black, but her skin is warm.

“…and I kid you not, that goose had it out for us.” Rhys leans back. “It was fuckinghissing.”

I remember that. I jump in with, “I’ve never seen Rhys move so fucking fast. You would’ve thought he was being chased by the whole Crown Point football team.”

Laughter.

“Hissing,” Rhys repeats. “And what did you do while I was running for my life?”

“Recording it.” I chuckle. “That is blackmailgold, I’m telling you.”

“This is why you don’t mess with Canadian geese,” Aaron mutters. “They’re vicious.”

“Did you know they have teeth?”

I groan and shake my finger at Rhys. “Don’t start.”

“Thorne. They. Are. Monsters!”

“They actually don’t have teeth,” Briar interjects. “Their bills just have serrated ridges.”

I throw my head back and die laughing. She doesn’t laugh as much, or talk as loud. But the girl knows how to work some comedic timing.

When the pitchers of beer have run out, and our pizzas are gone—minus the extra cheese one in a box in front of Briar—we finally call it quits.

“Are we splitting the bill?” Briar asks.

Rhys quirks his brow. “You guys need to get out more.”

I glare at him.

He holds up his hands. “I mean, you know, get out of the house, sex maniacs. A relationship can’t be built on fucking.”

“Rhys.”

He laughs. “Right. What I mean is?—”

“I paid,” I interrupt. There’s no way in hell I was letting Briar try to cover her portion of the tab. Not when my credit card is linked to my parents’ accounts, and they have so much money they could lose most of it and still not notice. So what if I pay for my friends’ dinners, too? I know that’s not the reason they hang out with me, which is why I do it. “We’re good to go. Let me give you a ride home.”

I take her box and slide out of the booth. The defensive end, at their table, is mostly gone. Ben fucking Patterson and Stephenare still there, though, and the former lifts his head to glower at me. I didn’t paytheirtab. Nothing against Stephen, but I’m not covering Patterson’s food ever again.

I curl my arm back around Briar’s shoulders and guide her out. I keep my pace slow, aware that her knee might be aching. Mine always twinged after sitting for too long, and I don’t know if she was able to stretch it out under the table.

She met me here, but I would hazard a guess she walked. So she doesn’t put up much protest—okay, no protest—when I show her to my car.

I open the passenger door for her, and she lowers herself in. Then reaches for the handle, but my grip on the top edge tightens.

I lean down into the opening. “I had fun tonight.”

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