Page 39 of Heart Sick Hate

Crew:Where are you?

Echo:Fusion… already told you.

Crew: It’s four. Don’t you have an appointment?

Echo: Cancelled

Crew: Are you drunk?

Echo: Maybe…

Crew: Echo

Echo: Crew

Crew: We both know you can’t handle your booze, why the fuck are you drinking alone in the afternoon?

Echo: I’m not

Echo: I’m with Maren

Echo: And there’s plenty of people here, maybe even one who won’t turn me down when I offer myself to them

I’m trying to piss him off. Dumb enough to think I’ll be able to when I know Crew Kingsley only cares about himself. But I can’t help it. He turned me down last night, and I want him to suffer for it.

Crew: You better not let anyone touch you.

Echo: Why? You had your chance. Don’t go getting jealous now.

Crew: I swear to fucking God, Echo.

Echo: Since when did you get so religious?

Crew: Ten minutes.

Echo: Until what?

But he doesn’t respond. Not so much as the three bubbles popping up and disappearing. So I shove my phone in my pocket, annoyed Crew thinks he can tell me what to do when he wouldn’t help me with a simple favor last night.

Screw him and his brother.

“Who was that?” Maren wraps her arms over my shoulders and her eyebrows pinch.

“The devil.”

Maren’s eyebrows knit as she scans my face, but I just roll my eyes. I’m failing to hide whatever irritation Crew’s drawing out of me, but I’m not getting into it here and killing my buzz.

“You girls ready for another round?” Some guy stops beside us.

He’s wearing a muscle tank with his thick arms on display. Every inch of him is covered in tattoos, but whoever did them wasn’t very good. The blending is shit and the line work is sloppy.

The downfall of working in the tattoo business is that a hot guy with bad tattoos is one of my biggest turnoffs. Not that Maren seems to notice or mind because she’s focused on his cool blue eyes and strong jawline.

“We are.” She smiles, untwisting herself from me and grabbing my hand to lead us back to the bar.

She slides onto the stool next to Muscle-Man, also known as Brian, while I’m stuck sitting next to his friend, Wyatt, pretending I like motorcycles. I really couldn’t care less about anything with an engine. Wasting tens of thousands of dollars on something to get you from point A to B seems pointless when there are cheaper options.

“That was my first Harley,” Wyatt says, beaming.

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