I Knew You Were Trouble - Cassie Mae Page 0,2

for another guy with some amazing ink on his skin. He’s moved from the Skeeball, and that sort of looks like the top of his head peeking out through one of the Fast and the Furious games.

There are tootsie rolls in with the lollipops, so I pat Pete’s side to get him to move out of the way and start putting the candy in the right bin. When I’m done, he’s watching me, and I jerk back.

“What? Is it my face again?”

A small chuckle escapes him. “Wanted to ask you something.”

“Then ask.” It’s never stopped him before.

“Who’s that guy you keep staring at?”

My cheeks burn with heat, and I wonder what color I’d paint them if I were to do a self-portrait right now. I usually substitute a warm color for a cold color, so that would make them… blue.

I am blue with humiliation.

“Uh… I’m not staring.”

“Sure.”

I grimace. “I’m not.” I wasn’t really. A couple glances here and there, but I think he left. Maybe went to another zone. Maybe bowling. Maybe the skate park. Maybe mini-golf. I don’t know because I wasn’t staring.

A lot.

I want to not-so-obviously search for my true love again, but with Pete eyeing me, I’m too chicken to risk it.

“I thought I saw someone from my art class is all.”

“Another artsy-fartsy, huh?” He tilts his head and nods over my shoulder. “Doesn’t really look the type.”

I whip around, and the end of my ponytail smacks me in the nose. My heart does its little angel singing as Mister Art Model approaches the redemption counter. There is a mini, twelve-year-old version of himself standing next to him.

“You guys use a counter or something?” he asks, sticking two arcade cards out to me. Oh my gosh, I’ve just heard the very first words he’s spoken directly to me. And I’m going to say something amazing back, I just know it.

“Hummerflagen.”

Well, shoot.

Pete

I can’t see Candace’s face, but I sure as hell can feel the heat from here. My chest aches from all the suppressed laughter I got down there, and I don’t want to interrupt her again—or miss the show—so I sit back and watch from my spot behind the counter.

“Uh… what was that?” the guy asks, and Candace’s hand shoots up and rubs her forehead, as if that’ll get her to remember the English language. She hunches over, her breathing taking on a scary rhythm like she’s about to spew all over the counter. She shakes her head hard, her ponytail flying around by her shoulders. Damn, does she got it bad. Or she’s actually sick.

“Yeswecountemhere,” she rambles, jutting her hand out to take the arcade cards. She fumbles, the things dropping to the floor as she turns around. I can’t help it; I’m chortling like an idiot, and her signature glare meets me from underneath her Troublemakers baseball cap we’re all supposed to wear. Mine is currently somewhere in the mess of the saddlebag I keep on my bike. It’s most likely jammed in there with my extra t-shirts and shorts that are probably a size too small.

I quirk a grin at Candace as she moves next to me to scan the cards. She seems determined not to make eye contact, so I may as well take advantage and pull my sleeves up.

Ah… much better. This place is a sauna in the arcade section. It’s much cooler at the skate place since most of the air gets pushed over there. I don’t even bother with the undershirt when I run the 3D ride. That room is so muggy that I come out looking like a melted popsicle on good days.

Candace gives me the side-eye and bites her lips together, but she doesn’t say anything about me showing my tattoos. Whether that’s by choice or simply because she’s lost the ability to communicate is yet to be determined.

“Nice ink,” the guy says with a nod to my arm. Maybe he is artsy-fartsy—or he wants to show off his own. His arms are a blank canvas, but there’s something just above the collar on his t-shirt that could be chest ink.

“Thanks.”

Candace is sure taking her sweet time there.

“Where’d you get it done?”

“Place in Fort Wayne.” She’s finally making her way back to him, her fingers shaking against the card. I’m not up for giving out too much info on where I grew up, so I’m glad she’s interrupting for the time being.

“You have six hundred and five,” she says, her shoulders straight and her voice finally returning to