Page 30 of Left-Hand Larceny
“It’s not like that,” I say again, sliding into the booth next to Quinn. Ragnar hesitates a second before settling in on my other side, the scarf still looped around his neck like a promise I didn’t mean to make. His thigh presses to mine in the tight space, warmth spreading from my hip to my knee. “We’re just working together,” I explain, hating how defensive it sounds. “That’s it.”
Also, didn’t Ragnar tell me he’d handle the idiots? Is this payback for sending Quinn to accost him? I deserve it.
Erik, Quinn’s husband and Vic’s twin, squints at us, frowning. “Because you know people wouldn’t approve?”
He doesn’t have to be specific for all of us to know what he means. Tristan and Vic. The storm that was. The lectures from management about professionalism and optics and not shitting where you eat. The lectures that only seemed aimed at Tristan, although they’re the ones that made her work with Vic, that sent her to Vegas with him.
“Drop it,” Robbie says, quiet and stern from his end of the booth. “She said it’s nothing. It’s nothing.”
I nod in thanks, even if I can’t help but wonder how many of Robbie’s rumors are true. A whirlwind rekindled romance with a high-profile ex. In the most unlikely of places. Both of them refusing to talk to the press. Or talk about their summer at all.Spags being surprisingly tight-lipped about his time volunteering with the youth camps in Robbie’s hometown.There’s a story there, but if Robbie isn’t going to pry into mine, I can return the favor.
“We’re just f-friends,” Ragnar says, voice quiet. “Sadie i-i-is helping m-me with s-s-something.”
“Hey Rags,” Spags leans across the table, grinning. “Can you teach me how to find a friend like Sadie?”
Vic and Robbie both reach out to smack the back of the younger man’s head and something shifts. Ragnar leans back, arm stretched along the back of the booth, casual as hell. He lifts his chin, rolls his shoulders back. He seems bigger like this. A brick wall. For once, not smiling, he seems like a force to be reckoned with. His fingertips barely graze my shoulder, and I pretend not to notice. The air between us hums. I suck air into my aching lungs.
My cheeks burn. “We aren’t—”
I’m not even sure how I was going to finish that statement. We aren’t dating? We’re not, but I already said as much. Sleeping together? I know that was what Spags implied, but…I sneak a glance at Ragnar out of the corner of my eye. It’s not that I wouldn’t want to….
“Yet,” Spags says, winking.
“Spags,” Maddie grins sweetly, “Repeat after me: I’m sorry Sadie, I’m sorry Ólaffson. I shouldn’t stick my nose where it isn’t wanted. I’m an idiot.”
He repeats her word for word, waggling his eyebrows like a cartoon character, and I bite my lips to stop from laughing. Spags might be an idiot, but he’s our idiot.
“No one would say anything,” Vic, the captain, says. “You don’t need to confirm or deny, but just know we’d never rat you out. Not when management is...”
Tristan claps a hand over his mouth, but it sounds like he mumbled the words “a bag of dicks,” from behind her palm.
“And we like you guys,” Quinn adds, “Not that I’m ever around the Arctic administration. Me or Erik.”
It makes my stomach pitch, and not entirely in a bad way. They’d stand up for me. And Ragnar. I already knew they would. I wouldn’t spend my free time with these dummies, or help them lose at trivia every week, if I didn’t have some trust in them. But it’s not just me. Ragnar too. I hope he understands what they aren’t saying. The loyalty they’re offering him. I can’t bring myself to turn and study his expression.
“I couldn’t help him with that anyway,” I blurt. Something sour and sharp crawls up my throat. “I’m not exactly a good relationship example. My ex can attest to that.” And I’m not looking for someone, anyone, else.
It gets quiet for a beat too long, and perhaps I’m not a good socializing example either. That was probably an inside thought. No one wants to hear about ancient history relationships, but sometimes my mouth runs off with checks I can’t cash.
Ragnar’s hand twitches against the booth, his thumb brushing the top of my shoulder, and I know he caught the bitterness in my voice. I didn’t mean to let it slip. Didn’t mean to let any of that ugly stuff surface. But here it is, crouched in my chest like it always is when this kind of talk happens.
Images flash uninvited through my mind — Christian’s smug grin, the way he’d knock me down with a word, then act like it was my fault for being so sensitive. The way my parents kept playing devil’s advocate, asking if I couldn’t be more understanding. It’s half the reason I’ve kept the gritty details of our relationship under wraps. We’ve split. As far as mom and dad are concerned, it was an amicable choice.He hasn’t attempted to come after me.
I shove it all down.
Everyone is staring at us like we’re an Olympic ping-pong match-up. Their eyes bounce from Ragnar to me and back tothe goalie again. My brain goes utterly blank. Embarrassment floods me and I wonder if I’ve taken on too much by agreeing to help my friend. I am out of my element. Again. All the years I spent carefully studying the people around me, gone. I have no idea why I agreed to this. Other than there being no chance I wouldn’t. Years of anecdotal data vanishing in a whiff of metal ozone.
“Well,” Ragnar says quietly, “I w-wouldn’t need h-help there.”
I can feel the tips of his fingers brush along my exposed shoulders. Once, twice, he’s stroking my heated skin. I shiver.
Heads turn. Robbie whistles low.
“Bold,” Erik mutters, grinning into his drink.
Even Vic looks mildly impressed.
Quinn blinks. “Wait, what now?”
