Page 204 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“So how do you–” I start.
“What’s– oh, haha–” she says at the same time.
We both chuckle awkwardly. I look at her more carefully. Scout is pretty, the kind that doesn’t need effort. But there’s something guarded behind those green eyes. I wonder what she’s keeping safe.
She shakes her head. “Sorry, you go.”
“What’s your story?” The words come out before I can stop them.
“My story?”
I already regret asking. Conversation leads to questions, questions lead to expectations. But she’s looking at me now, waiting.
“Everyone’s got one.”
She twirls her hair around her finger. “I take care of people. Always have. Sometimes they don’t want it, but I do it anyway.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” She studies my face like I’m a mystery to her. “What about you?”
I shrug. “I play hockey.”
“I know. But what else?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” My brow furrows. “What else would there be?”
She narrows her eyes at me and pins me in place.
“I bet you’re one of those guys who’s like… a secret genius at math. Or maybe a piano prodigy.”
I snort. “I am not. Hockey is just my thing.”
“Hmm.” She props her face in a hand and looks at me. “I’m going to figure you out. There’s always more than meets the eye.”
I’m about to tell her she doesn’t know anything when my agent enters the room. The temperature drops five degrees, and it has nothing to do with the icy Seattle weather outside.
Enzo Morelli strides in like he owns every room he enters. Expensive suit, predatory smile, the presence that sucks all the air out of a space. He’s a normal feature at the Secret History. He was a Havoc player for a long time, then he transitioned into being the best, most cutthroat agent on the west coast.
He’s my agent. Hunter and Jett too. And he’s inked us plenty of colossal deals. But why is he here right now? Tonight is supposed to be close friends only.
I turn to see Scout going pale as she spots Enzo. Actually white. There is obviously some beef there. Not that I wouldn’t expect there to be.
“Shit,” she whispers, shoving back from the table. “I need the bathroom.”
She’s gone before I can blink, cutting through the crowd like she’s running from something dangerous.
Enzo looks at her as she leaves, then approaches our table with that confidence that comes from never hearing no. He’s probably pushing forty, with silver in his dark hair, tan that screams expensive vacations. Way older than Scout, by any count.
“Gentlemen.” He doesn’t ask before pulling up a chair. “Mind if I join you?”
Hunter nods. “Enzo. What brings you here?”
“Congratulations on the engagement,” Enzo tells Hunter, raising his glass. “Surprised you landed someone so far out of your league, little lady.”
Hunter’s jaw tightens but Juliet squeezes his arm. “Thank you,” she says smoothly. Hunter glares at him.
Enzo’s attention moves around the table, cataloguing. When he gets to me, something sharp flickers in his eyes.
