Page 66 of The Love Losers

It’s probably because he’s staring straight up at the fluorescent light, but I don’t say anything.

I recognize the need to have a dramatic moment, having felt the same way a time or two in the past. After I discovered the truth about my five-minute-fiancé, I changed my name, and after I found out about Roman, I moved to North Carolina. Sure, I had secondary reasons for doing both of those things, but you don’t get more dramatic than that.

The kid loses more of the blood in his face and runs to the front room, muttering about managers and not getting paid enough for this.

Anthony swears and fists his hair in his hands, making it almost wild—revealing the rule breaker within the man of reason. “I didn’t do it on purpose,Nina. I have terrible aim. My father tried to take me skeet shooting, and the only thing I hit was a tree. I was aiming for Wilson’s leg.” Looking at Wilson, he swears again and says, “I was trying to hit your leg. I’m sorry.”

Wilson nods, pressing the icepack to his balls with one hand, and extends the other in a fist for a weak fist bump. “It got wild out there, man. I get it. There are no rules in war.”

“Well, I don’t believe you,” Nina says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re jealous of him.”

“Jealous?” Anthony says, raising his voice. His face looks haughty and angry. He’s every inch the heir to a fortune. I put my hand at the small of his back, needing to reel him back so he’ll be my Anthony again. His face softens slightly, but his jaw is still hard as he adds, “Why the hell would I be jealous of him…you?”

Her face tightening, she gets to her feet. “I need to talk with you privately.”

“No, you don’t,” he says gruffly, glaring down at her. “You can say anything you want in front of my fiancée. We have no secrets.”

That word shouldn’t mean anything, but it makes the blood in my veins feel fizzy and above the legal limit.

Nina laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “I’m talkingtoher.”

Shock roils through me, like that time I played with an electrical socket when I was a kid, thinking it was like a puzzle for forks.

“Some girl talk?” asks Wilson, who’s deluded in an almost sweet way. Or it would be sweet if he didn’t think messing around with his friend’s fiancée was an acceptable course of action. “That’s a good idea. Can you check on the doctor situation? I’m going to need some pain medication. Maybe an IV. My mother will want to come to the hospital, of course.”

Contempt roils in Nina’s eyes, but it’s papered over within seconds. “Of course, honey.” She shifts her gaze to Anthony, who gives her a hard look. “If you touch a hair on his head—”

“Same,” he says, his tone blistering. His eyes meet mine. “You don’t need to go anywhere, Rosie.”

But I do. I want to know what Nina’s playing at, inviting herself to hang out with us today. And I want to know if she’s the one behind the website. I’m guessing it’s not Wilson, who’s too sweetly dumb to successfully pull off a prank, let alone cyber harassment. Her, though? She could be a mastermind.

“I’m fine,” I say, pressing my hand to the small of his back again before pulling away.

He looks worried as Nina leads me out of the course and into the hallway.

The beleaguered boy who’s in charge of this place for the afternoon looks up from his desk. There’s a smudge of blue paint on his cheek. “I just spoke with the manager, ma’am,” he says toNina. “I’m going to get an ambulance here. Shouldn’t take more than five minutes. One time it even got here in four.”

“He’s fine,” she says dismissively. “He stayed in bed for two days after a flu shot. Do you have any Advil?”

He nods at her, his lips a worried bow, as if he thinks he’s walking into a trap but has lost his sense of direction. “I can find some.”

“Give him some Advil and a Diet Coke, and he’ll think you’re a medical genius.”

He continues to gape at her, but starts scrambling through the drawer of his desk, probably for the Advil.

Nina, done with him, leads me past the desk to the little concessions area. The service counter is unmanned, probably because the teenager at the front has been pulling double duty. Apparently indoor paintball is not a popular past time for most people the day before Christmas Eve.

There’s a half-empty cup of hot chocolate sitting out on the table, but Nina makes a face and dumps it out. I’ve worked in food service enough to know she just made the trash a soggy mess that the poor pimple-faced attendant will probably end up getting all over his pants later this afternoon. As if I needed another reason to dislike her.

“What do you want?” I ask, feeling like we might as well get straight to the point we’ve spent all morning dancing around. She wants something, or she wouldn’t have invited herself on our outing. Maybe she’d even manufactured our run-in at the stables this morning. Jeeves had said they’d been out longer than they’d arranged for.

Did Anthony go riding on regular days, at regular times?

“You ran into Anthony at the stables on purpose earlier,” I say, figuring I might as well see how she responds. “You thought he’d be alone.”

“You’re very bold,” she comments as she runs a hand over her sleek hair.

“Yes. So are you. Now, what do you want? Because you obviously want something.”

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