Page 36 of The Crafting Con
“Very funny,” I growl.
“Don’t worry, Dec.” Bailey claps a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got your back. A few hours with us hyping you up, and that girl won’t even remember who Tyler is.”
“Yeah,” Hiro chimes in. “Tyler who?”
I groan. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. “Please don’t.”
“No worries, dude,” Zeke says. “We’ve got this.”
“Just be yourselves, and don’t go saying anything”—I grimace—“extra.”
Zeke grins. “You mean we shouldn’t go into detail about how your marching band won first place in that competition last fall? Or how your YouTube channel is up to almost forty subscribers?”
I grit my teeth. “I will end you.”
“Ooh.” Bailey rubs her hands together, eyes dancing. “This is gonna be more fun than I thought.”
“Seriously, guys—” My plea dies on my lips when the front door swings open, and Ava scoots out backward while simultaneously corralling Johnny Five inside. She still has her faded shop jeans on, but now my black Demon Slayer tee is loosely tucked into the waistline, and it’s stupid, ’cause it’s just a T-shirt, but my entire chest feels like it’s caving in. Breathing is a non-option.
“Yup,” Hiro mutters under his breath. “Way worse.”
“I’m ready when you are,” Ava calls out, jogging down the front steps. She pulls the elastic from her ponytail, and I swear she goes into slow motion while she shakes her hair out. Bailey kicks the back of my leg, and I startle to attention.
“Let’s go.”
We pile into the SUV, Zeke taking the front passenger seat and Bailey scooting into the bucket seat behind Hiro. She tosses her bag onto the other middle seat, leaving me and Ava to crowd into the back. Embarrassment pricks the back of my neck from her not-so-subtle arrangements, but Ava appears unperturbed as she buckles in beside me.
I try not to stare at the way the sleeves of my T-shirt skim her biceps.
Not staring, not being weird.
Just casually sitting in the back with Ava.
No big thing.
“Hey, Declan.” Ava leans in close, her voice pitched low, and a subtle hint of vanilla lotion threatens to undo me. “What do you call a car that never stops?”
I force myself not to breathe overly deep.
Act. Normal.
“I don’t know, what?”
Her lips curve upward, and okay, yeah. I’m totally staring at her mouth.
“Tireless.”
I laugh, and the motion loosens the tension built up inside me. “Nerd.”
“Someone say my name?” Hiro calls from the front, and before I know it the entire car is firing off lame dad jokes. We keep it going right up to The Dragon’s Den, where the parking lot is surprisingly packed. Hiro has to loop around the entire building before finding a last, semi-hidden spot in the back.
I peer up at the wide two story with its classic medieval siding and gold painted sign approvingly. “The place looks great.”
“Wait until you see inside.” Hiro holds one of the massive double entrance doors open for us and beams with pride. “Ren absolutely killed it with the cozy tavern vibes.”
We step inside what Hiro refers to as “The Great Hall,” and it legit feels like we’re inside a fantasy novel with the high wood ceiling, exposed beams, and dark wood tables clustered about the center. Wooden booths line the windowed wall to our right, with a simple bar facing us on the opposite side of the room. An open stairwell to our left leads up to a balcony area, where a handful of smaller tables look out over the large space. Underneath it are arched doors marked as restrooms, as well as floor-to-ceiling bookshelves brimming with games. A huge, wrought-iron chandelier with fake candles flickering away hangs over the center of the main room, and there’s even a stage tucked into the far-right corner. The entire place screams epic adventure.
A young woman who looks to be in her early twenties greets us at the hostess stand, her glasses sliding down her nose as she asks, “Table for five?”
