Fangs, Fate & Other Bad Decisions novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32

I knew the moment she opened her mouth that i would regret asking her what she wanted to do today.

She had just woken up, her hair a mess of waves and chans, still half–asleep, and her voice scratchy and low. She padded into the kitchen like a sleepy wild thing, her little black dress wrinkled but still stunning on her, and poured both of us a cup of coffee like she’d been doing it beside me for years.

I had leaned on the counter, pretending to read an email on my phone, attempting to hide the fact that her agreeing to spend more time with me had a weird effect on the empty spot behind my sternum.

Then I’d asked, “So, what do you want to do today?”

And she, without a hint of shame or self–preservation, had lifted her mug, blown lightly across the surface, and declared, “Mini–golf.”

1 blinked, certain I heard her wrong, waiting for her to correct herself.

“Mini–golf?” I parroted her like I’d just been informed we were storming the gates of Hell in roller skates.

She nodded and said, “Yup,” popping the p, before continuing, “Windmills, fake waterfalls, and non putters. I want to see if you can survive eighteen holes surmunded by screaming children and adults who take plastic trophies.

I

In that moment, I considered for a split second if I could fake my own death.

But instead, I found myself saying, “Fine. But only if we stop for coffer first.”

Her grin could’ve powered a city block when the said, “You’re in agreeable when you’re trying to impress me

She wasn’t wrong

I changed into dark jeans and a soft black Henley from the bag Griffin brought over yesterday. It was casual, but still tailored, because even if I was going to spend the next few hours dodging rogue golf balls, I was still Thane Dranan, damn it, and I refined to look anything but good, ever.

When I walked back into the living room after changing in her upstairs guest room, Harley whistled low under her breath as she scanned me from head to toe.

“What?” I asked, pretending not to care,

She sipped from her second cup of coffee, her bare feet tucked under her on the couch, which was now in its usual spot again thanks to me.

“Nothing. Just wondering how it feels to be the best–dressed person ever to step foot on AstroTurf.”

“Tragic,” I deadpanned her.

She rolled her eyes and stood, tugging an oversized zip–up hoodie over her head, effectively covering her jean shorts and sundress top. She then slipped on a pair of vom Converse. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her jeans had a hole on her upper right thigh. She looked like sunshine had spilled over a thunderstorm and then decided to wear it like armor.

By the time we stepped out of her front door, Mike was parked outside her house again. She walked over to where he was holding the back door open and greeted him with a bright smile that made my jaw clench. They greeted each other like old friends. Harley asked him how his day was going, and he enquired if she had a good night’s rest.

Harley asked where Griffin was today. Mike told her he was out running some errands on my behalf, which made her scowl at me. What did I do now?

The drive over was…loud, to say the least.

She played some kind of chaotic playlist on her phone, every song clashing with the next, hopping from one genre to the next. She drummed her hands on her thighs and the doorframe next to her. She sang the wrong lyrics and stuck her hand out the window to ride the wind like a kid.

Chapter 32

She was messy and unpolished. So completely unfazed by the fact that the man sitting next to her was a vampire who’d once dined with kings and made enemies of gods.

The mini–golf course was worse than I expected.

Bright colors, so many bright colors. Children were screaming bloody murder as they ran from one side of the park to the other, their parents nowhere in sight to corral them in. Animatronic animals with creepy LED eyes that reminded you of horror movies about dolls that come alive. Sticky pavements that had me making a mental note to get Griffin to have my black Gucci trainers that I had on dry cleaned as soon as possible. A man in a flamingo–print shirt was handing out neon balls and putters like they were sacred relics, with a smile on his face that felt fake, in its intensity.

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