HOW I LOST YOU

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE & TWENTY FOUR!

Chapter Twenty-Three

When the paintball tourney at the Outdoor Palace was over, I stayed to help clean up. Sticking around to help was professional courtesy more than anything, since Dad knew the owner and they helped each other out when they could. Lola had taken off early to meet her boyfriend at a concert, so there was only me and Don, the owner. Helping Don also took my mind off the fury bubbling inside me. Kya hadn’t shown up or answered any of my texts. Mad was an understatement.

When we finished cleaning the bunkers and guns, Don told me to take off. He locked up and headed out to his office behind the arena. If he was anything like Dad, he’d be there for a while, finishing paperwork and other business-owner things I didn’t have any real desire to learn about.

He turned up the music on his speakers and I smiled and threw my gear bag over my shoulder, heading out to the field that acted as the parking lot.

Because I’d waited too long for Kya—who stood me up—I’d arrived late and gotten a crappy spot in the field and had a bit of a hike. It was dark, but lights in the arena lit up the lot. As I headed to my car, I saw a bunch of the boys hanging around a hatchback propped open. They laughed over music. A couple of red tips burned in the darkness. Don would be out soon and was not the kind of guy you wanted to piss off smoking illegal substances on his property.

I hesitated, fighting off a panicky sensation about being all alone. But the guys had to be ballers, so shaking off nerves, I kept walking, no choice but to pass them. I lifted my chin and lengthened my stride, shoulders back, fingers gripping my keys. Their faces weren’t visible, so it was easier to pretend they weren’t there. I could tell they’d seen me but I kept my eyes fixed on my car.

“Hey, it’s Paintball Chick,” one of them called. It sounded like Steve Blender’s friend, Cameron. “Where’s the hot one?” he called, and they laughed.

“Kya Kessler,” Steve said. “She didn’t show up tonight.”

“The one with the exquisite ass? She’s doing Lewis right?”

“Not anymore. I’m next.” Definitely Steve’s voice.

I saw their faces. Four of them, all holding bottles of beer. Hurrying my footsteps, I called, “Kya wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“You sure about that?” Steve asked.

“You better watch it or Lewis will kick your ass,” another guy said.

“He’s puking in the bush. He’s not going to kick anyone’s ass.”

Lucas had shown up for his first tournament game. Loud and obnoxious. If he was puking, that meant he’d been drinking. Not cool.

“She’s not bad-looking,” one of the other guys called.

A flutter of nerves sped my steps up.