Page 87 of Delay of Game
“Am I supposed to be encouraging songs about trouble making?” I asked.
Astrid grinned, and my bad mood melted away.
“Hey, captain!” Fieste’s entrance ruined that good mood almost immediately.
“Fieste. You’re early,” I said, turning back to the stack of clay sheets.
“I gave Gracie a ride.”
I fumbled with the knife, nearly cutting myself again. “You what?”
Fieste shrank. “I gave her a ride?”
“He picked me up from school. My car died last night and Lily gave me a ride this morning. It’s out of her way though, so Ethan offered to drive me here.” Astrid released Mila and stood up, tucking her hands into her pockets.
“You could have called,” I said between gritted teeth.
“Oh, you haven’t introduced me yet, Rob.” Mom’s hands fluttered as she wiped away dried clay and crossed the room to Fieste. “I’m Gloria, Rob’s mom.”
“Ethan Fieste. Nice to meet you, ma’am.” His voice turned syrupy sweet as he took my mom’s hand. The fucker.
“Fieste? You must be new to the team. Why don’t I show you around?” She took Fieste’s arm, pulling him out toward the kiln yard. “Mila, honey, did you leave your bike out here? You better come with me and get it off the lawn.”
Mila cocked her head, still holding onto Astrid’s hand. Reluctantly, she let go and followed Fieste and mom out into the backyard.
“That was subtle,” I grunted.
“That’s subtle?” Astrid’s eyes widened. “You nearly bit Ethan’s head off just for giving me a ride.”
“Fieste,” I emphasized his last name, hating hearing his first name on her lips, “didn’t have to give you a ride. We live just down the road. I have extra cars. If you’d just called me when your car broke down?—”
“He was around.” Astrid scooped up an extra knife off the table and pulled one sheet of clay onto the table beside mine. “It’s not a big deal.”
He was around. My stomach clenched. I sucked in a breath, counting to three before I let it out again. “What does that mean, ‘he was around?’”
“Do you have a second template, or do we share?” she asked, ignoring the question and searching the table.
“We share,” I responded, handing over the wall piece and taking the bottom for myself. “So, what was he doing at your place?”
“I didn’t say he was at my place.”
“So, he took you out?”
“I didn’t say that, either.” She cut around the wall stencil and set it on the table between us. “Are you jealous?”
I straightened. Yes. I was jealous as hell. I was miserable, and I hated that I’d ever introduced them. “No.”
“Okay.” Her fingertips brushed my knuckles as I reached for the handle stencil. My heart stopped and my hand stilled as she danced her fingertips down the back of my palm and over my wrist. “Then it shouldn’t matter why he was around.”
She pulled her hand away, the loss leaving me off balance. I gripped the edge of the table, steadying myself. “What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Normal Saturday things: grocery shopping, laundry, catching up on bad TV.”
Nothing that involved Fieste, thank fuck.
“Want me to come over? What’s next on the house list?”
She kept her eyes on the slab of clay, gliding the knife over the edge of the stencil. But her lips pursed, body tensing. “Not much. I sanded the walls after work this week. A few coats of paint and I think the house will be ready to list. Just in time for my parents to fly in.”
