Page 82 of The Chase

“Yeah? Name ten.”

“Fine.” Like a pro, she starts listing hues. “Salmon, rose, blush, fuchsia, watermelon, flamingo, cerise, bubble gum, magenta—”

She’s on number nine when a blur of red and yellow rushes up to the booth.

I barely have time to blink before a pale arm flings out and a waterfall of liquid rains down on us. The intended target was Brenna, who receives the bulk of it, but Hollis, Nate, and I are victims of secondary splashing.

Brenna’s jaw falls open as a furious blonde glares down at her. “What the—”

“Keep your hands off my man!”

18

SUMMER

BRENNA IS SOAKING WET. DESPITE HER INITIAL SHOCK, SHErecovers quickly, reaching for a napkin to wipe her face. “Who exactly is your man?” she asks calmly.

The blonde points to a spot about ten feet to her right. She’s got long fingernails, painted bright fuchsia (or pink, as a naïve Hollis would say) and one sharp talon directs my gaze to the polo shirt-wearing guy who was hitting on Brenna. The attempted boob-grabber.

“Him?” Brenna’s disdain is written all over her gorgeous face.

“Yes.”

“Funny. He didn’t mention he had a girlfriend when he was offering to take me for a spin in his Lambo.”

Hollis snickers.

“You’re a liar. Davey would never do that.” The girl is still spitting mad, cheeks redder than the crimson tank top she’s got on. Her top clashes with her nails. I hate that. “He said you were throwing yourself at him.”

Brenna’s lips curve in a mocking smile. “Of course he did. His ego was bruised. But if I’d agreed to blow him in hisfancy sports car after you went to bed tonight? I guarantee you never would’ve known he talked to anyone but you.”

“Truth,” Hunter drawls.

I hide a grin. She’s absolutely right. The only reason this loser even mentioned the existence of another woman to his girlfriend is because he needed his ego stroked. He probably knew she’d go apeshit on Brenna and stake a claim on her man, which makes him feel nice and wanted after Brenna laughed when he suggested they hook up in his Lamborghini.

Brenna gets to her feet. Her face is dry, but the front of her sweatshirt is still sopping wet. The clear liquid doesn’t reek of alcohol, so I suspect it was just water. With an annoyed breath, Brenna unzips the wet hoodie and peels it off her slim shoulders.

“Oh my fucking God,” Hollis groans, arousal darkening his eyes.

She’s wearing nothing but jeans and a lacy black bralette that’s more crop top than bra, and not much skimpier than what the blonde has on. She won’t get kicked out of Malone’s for indecent exposure, but she’s definitely about to be responsible for every hard penis in our vicinity.

Even Fitzy’s?a voice taunts.

I try to swallow my jealousy. I donotlike the idea of Fitz getting hard for Brenna, no matter how incredible her boobs look in that bralette.

But a quick glance across the booth at Fitz reveals a harsh expression and sneer of distaste as he eyes the polo-shirt guy, who’s now creeping toward his girlfriend. Fitz’s big hands aren’t quite fists, but they’re curled on the tabletop. He’s on guard and not liking this escalating situation.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Brenna says to the blonde. “Your manis a fuckboy with a capital F. Drop him now before he hurts you worse.”

“Did you just call Davey a fuckboy!” is the outraged response. “You’d beluckyto have someone like him! If he tried to get with you, and you said no, then you’re a stupid bitch.”

Brenna’s brown eyes twinkle. “First you’re mad because you think I tried to steal him from you. Now you’re pissed because I turned him down. Pick one injustice and commit, sweetie.”

I can’t help but laugh. The blonde glares daggers at me.

“But if you want, I’d be happy to bang him,” Brenna offers. “His technique was wicked clumsy when he tried to grab my breast. I could probably teach him a few things.”

“Slut,” the girl spits out.

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