Page 19

“Did a real quality job there, Home Improvement,” I say, by way of greeting.

“Fuck you.” Pan narrows his eyes at the window and takes a pull from his can. “It’s fine.”

“For now,” I say. “I’m not working here like that.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He throws me a glance, and then pauses to let his gaze drift down to my neck, eyes flickering briefly at the sight of the scratches. They’re not terrible, only just deep enough to draw blood and already scabbing. I barely even feel them.

But Pan, of course, has to make a fucking crack about it.

“Let me guess,” he says, cocking his head and doing a mock tough-guy voice. “I should see the other guy.”

I just shrug. Far as I know, the other guy is still face-down in a racetrack alleyway, pants pissed and short-term memory obliterated. “Not much to see.”

Pan rolls his eyes on a long exhale. “Well, glad you made it back in one piece.”

“Someone had to.”

A beat of silence. Then:

“Why’d you go after her, anyway?”

I don’t answer. And then I realize I don’t even know who he means. Tink, or the kid.

“Some white-knight shit? Trying to get in her pants now that you know what’s in them?”

He chortles, pleased with his little joke. I’m not. I sweep my leg and take him out at the ankles so he lands, hard, on his ass, his stupid energy drink landing with a thunk next to him, somehow still upright.

“Ow!” Pan cries, wincing. “I almost spilled.”

Boo fucking hoo. “You’re a grade-A fuckboy, you know that?”

“Hah.” Pan actually snorts, crab-walking his way over to sit against the shop wall, unspilled drink in hand. “You’re one to talk.”

I take a few steps and slide down the wall next to him. “At least I eat pussy.”

He replies by shoving me in the shoulder. For another long moment, we just sit there. Silent, in the shop. Our shop.

“She lied to me,” he says at last.

There’s something in his voice. Not the usual whine. More like surprise. Shock, even. Hurt.

But no. This is Pan. This is…

Trying to get in your pants now that you know what’s in them?

I think of her shuddering around my fingers, the tight gasps of her breath when she came.

No. Fuck him.

“Yeah, because you never fuckin’ lie,” is all I say back.

“That’s…” Pan exhales hard. “Goddammit. Whatever.” He slams his can down next to him and folds his arms over his knees, letting his head fall back to the wall with a groan.

I say nothing. No reason to indulge him. Just stare into the middle of the shop.

There’s more to it than that. In her case, in so many others. People are complicated, people do things for complicated reasons they barely understand themselves.