Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [85]
“Had us a bit of a scuffle, that’s all,” Frankie said, who still hadn’t taken his eyes off Jess, despite Miranda’s very clear warning. He rummaged in the front pocket of his too-tight, ripped jeans and came up with a squashed pack of cigarettes. The casual, unconcerned way he lit up and took a puff made Miranda ache to slap him. There was blood on Frankie’s mouth, too, and Miranda’s blood pressure shot skyward.
“A scuffle?” she asked through gritted teeth. “Jess, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on here, because it looks a lot like Frankie made some sort of . . .” God, she didn’t even know how to say it. She ended up spitting it out. “Some sort of pass at you or something, and you had to fight him off. Is that true? Because so help me God, if it is, there will be hell to pay.”
That shook Jess out of his shock. “No! Miranda. Shit. Calm down, would you, please? I really think I’ve had enough violence for one night.”
“What violence?” Miranda nearly shrieked. “We heard some kind of racket out here, and I looked and looked and couldn’t find you, and then Adam said he thought he knew where you were. And now you’re saying there was violence?”
“A couple of drunk frat guys hassled us,” Jess said. “But it was no big deal. Some trash cans got pushed around, and one of the losers hit Frankie.” His voice got hard and angry for a second before he visibly calmed himself. “But it was fine. I’m fine, so can we just go back inside and forget about it?”
Adam closed a hand over her shoulder, but Miranda barely felt it. She was watching Jess, and keeping an eye on Frankie for good measure.
Frankie wasn’t looking at Jess anymore. He didn’t look at any of them, even Adam. Wandering a few steps away from the group, Frankie examined the end of his cigarette, then stuck the filter back in his mouth. Talking around the butt, he said, “Yeah, good idea. You lot go on inside, I’ll be along in a mo’.”
All that while squinting off into the distance away from them, as if they weren’t worth his time or attention.
Even if Frankie really had gotten that split lip sort of defending her brother—and Miranda was no fool, she knew there was some pertinent information missing from Jess’s story—she couldn’t help it. Frankie Boyd got her back up in the worst possible way.
Jess was aware of his distant coolness, too, and it seemed to make him unhappy.
“Frankie,” he said. “Come on.”
Miranda noticed Adam watching this exchange carefully, his brows drawn together as though he were deciphering some secret code.
Frankie hollowed his gaunt cheeks around the cigarette, plucked it from his mouth, and blew the gray smoke in a billowing cloud over their heads. Then he angled his head far enough to slide Jess a quick smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Go on with your sister, now, Bit. You were spot-on, everything’s fine here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jess sucked in a breath. His face looked the way it had when he was twelve years old and trying out in-line skates for the first time and realized, too late, that he had no idea how to stop.
Adam’s worried gaze swung to her, and the concern she saw in his brown eyes made Miranda feel as if she’d hit the same fence post Jess had on those damn skates, a solid thunk of wood straight to the gut.
Her nebulous fears came swirling back. Sweat sprang to the palms of Miranda’s hands and her heart tripped all over itself trying to catch up to the lightning pace of her brain.
Time slowed down and white noise filled her ears. Into the silence, Miranda dropped a single, slow question.
“What were they hassling you about?”
Jess looked from Frankie to Miranda and his brow cleared. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Frankie himself appeared carved from stone, frozen with the cigarette inches from his mouth. She could feel Adam’s solid warmth behind her, and the immediate sense of safety he provided made her want to lean into him.
Jess’s quiet response took all choice away from her.
“The frat assholes took exception to the sight of two guys kissing.” He swallowed