Page 84 of Traded

May Carterneverfind out about this.

“Pleasure’s mine.” The air changes, and when I look up, he’s only a foot away. “Any reason you’re sitting down here on your own?”

“What? No.” I toss my hair, belatedly remembering my ragged little bun. It flops awkwardly around on the back of my head. Not exactly the taunting powerhouse I was going for. “My phone in my room’s not working.”

A burst of laughter rings out, and I glance to the group in the corner. “You should get back.”

“You should join us.” My head jerks up. Boone’s eyes are dark. He doesn’t look like he’s joking, and that’s a joke in itself. “It’s only pack.”

“Ha. Not happening.” I hoist myself onto a bar stool. “Gonna sit here and work my way through the world challenge for fry eating.”

The rest of the bar is empty, save for a businessman murmuring away into an earpiece in the opposite corner. At the low screech of a stool dragging across the dark floor, my head twists. “What are you doing?”

“Joining you.” Boone settles himself onto a stool next to me. “Can’t let you go for a world record all by yourself. You’ll need a witness to your glory.”

“Uh, no.” I point to his pack. “Shoo. Off you pop.”

He leans back and folds his arms, completely relaxed and ignoring my outrage. “How’s your season going?”

I snatch up my wine and take a gulp. “I am not doing this with you.”

“What?” His eyes glitter. “Catching up with an old friend?”

The pang of hurt feels familiar, though it’s been a long time. “We’re not friends, Mercer. Go back to your own pack. Bribery doesn’t work on me.”

I was aiming for sharp, but a flash of the old hurt seeps through.

Boone’s throat bobs. I don’t want to hear whatever excuse he’s planning to give me, interrupting before he can say anything. “And don’t lie to me. You never did before.”

“Ro—”

“Did you get approached for an interview with Valerie Adams?” I interrupt again.

Boone’s eyebrows slide up. “No. Why?”

I turn back to my wine. “She wanted to talk to me and Carter about our sad little childhoods. I wondered if they’d dug something new up on us.”

My fingers tap against the stem of my glass. “Or someone spoke tothem.”

“I wouldnever.” Boone leans forward, the words sharp. I don’t look at him, but I can feel him, only a few inches separating us. Solid, and warm. So familiar that I let myself breathe in, just to remember. “Seriously, Rosie. I would neverdo that to you.”

Studying him, I look for the lie.

He looks different. Harder. The softness in his jaw has given way to stark, sculpted lines, his messy hair cut back and tidier. His eyes travel over me in return, and I wonder what differences he sees. The tightness at the corner of his eyes suggests there might be a few.

I look away. “Why did you leave?”

I’ve never asked him. Never had the chance to, and when I did, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. As soon as the words leave my mouth, low and quivering and pathetic, I want to sweep them up and yank them back where he can’t hear them.

Boone’s tanned skin is sallow when I look at him. We stare at each other.

Fuck.

“You know what?” Huffing out a dry laugh, I scrub my hands over my face. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

Are a few plates of fries really worth this discussion?

More laughter sounds from the table behind us. I fling myself from the stool, suddenly desperate to escape whatever he’s going to say.