Page 44 of Wild Eyes
I’m biting my lip and staring at the ground when I see a flash of white from the corner of my eye. It draws my attention and I turn to look.
At a stray soccer ball.
One that hits me square in the face.
Just before my nose starts spraying blood.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WEST
“You look fine.”
“I donotlook fine.” She pats along both sides of her nose gingerly, as though she’s making sure it hasn’t sprung a leak.
“Okay, you look fabulous.”
I get a scowl from beneath the brim of a spare Sparkly Turquoise Unicorns hat. “Nice try.”
I lean back in the metal chair to get a better look at her from across the table. It’s dimly lit on the floating dock at the Rose Hill Reach—the town’s waterfront pub—but the patio lanterns strung around the perimeter reflect off the water and cast a cozy glow.
Still, the sky is a dark cobalt, and it matches the bruising that’s cropping up on Skylar’s fancy face just perfectly.
If you ask me, she looks downright beautiful. I don’t tell her that, though.
“I have yet to meet a single person in the world who doesn’t look fabulous in a Sparkly Turquoise Unicorns hat,” I say.
Her lips twitch, but she still doesn’t break as she turns to gaze out over the inky water and back to the main bar, where she refused to have a drink because it was too well lit. There areother people at tables out here, but they don’t spare us a second glance.
Did I force her to come out for a drink with me?
Maybe.
Is it better than her sitting in the bunkhouse, spiraling about whether her nose is broken?
Definitely.
And that’s exactly what she was doing when I went to check on her.
Skylar reaches up again, trailing the pad of her finger down the bridge of her nose. “Well, at least now when the tabloids say I’ve had a good nose job, they’ll be telling the truth.”
“You don’t need a nose job.”
“You should write an article about that. Or maybe tweet it. People gobble up unsolicited opinions about me.”
She says it like it’s meant to be a joke, but I don’t find it especially funny. “Why do you read that shit?”
She straightens, tipping her chin up. It’s hard to see her eyes from beneath her hat, but I have no doubt they’re flashing with defiance right now. She’s not the soft-spoken media darling everyone has come to know. No, there’s an edge to Skylar that someone’s tried to disguise with pretty paint and curtains.
But I see it all the same. And I like it.
“It’s part of my job to know how I’m perceived in the media.”
I furrow my brow. “No, it’s literally not. And who cares what they say about you? Are they right? Do they know you? Fuck ’em.”
Her amber irises widen at that.
“I’ve known you for less than forty-eight hours, and you’ve mentioned tabloids twice. Stop. Looking. Fuck ’em.”
