“You’re an asshole, Bastian.”
“You done?” I lean back against the tailgate, crossing my ankles as I take another look for Evan.
Face red and nostrils flared, Selina storms off. She goes straight for some ride jock with a wife beater tank and a backward camouflage hat, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck before she smashes her lips to his. He spills his beer, caught off guard, before dropping the can to the ground and returning her kiss enthusiastically.
I laugh at the embarrassing display. If she thinks I’m even a little jealous, she’s more delusional than I thought. I debate on going over there and giving him a congratulatory high-five. Selina’s temper tantrum just might get him laid tonight. But instead, I slip away, knowing that she’ll look back for my reaction and find me gone. Then, maybe she’ll understand exactly how much I don’t care.
When I find Evan, she’s standing with a group of females. The burlesque girls, specifically. Interestingly enough, they seem to have taken to Evan, but I suspect they’ll feel differently toward her come morning. Carnival folk are cliquey and guarded by nature, and Selina is one of the headlining acts. Once she gets to them, Evan will no doubt be blacklisted.
Now that I know she’s not being pickpocketed or roofied, I start to turn away, right as Elliot comes up behind her, drink in hand. He taps her on the shoulder and she turns toward him, accepting his drink. I narrow my eyes, waiting to see what she’ll do. If she’ll heed my warning about trusting no one.
Elliot charms the burlesque girls, telling jokes by the sound of laughter coming from their circle. Evan smiles politely, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. And even better, she doesn’t ever take a sip from the cup he gave her. Good girl. Maybe she isn’t completely hopeless.
I don’t know why Elliot is so hell-bent on getting close to Evan, but if he’s trying to piss me off, it’s working. Not because I want her. I simply don’t trust him or his motives. He showed up a couple years ago after his mom died in a house fire, so we took pity on the guy. What can I say? I’m a real humanitarian. Most people who show up looking for jobs are loners or people who’ve lost everyth
ing, but the guy weirds me out, which says a lot with the kind of company we’re used to.
“You got it bad for the blondie, brother?” Eros asks, throwing an arm around my shoulders. I didn’t even hear him approach.
“Nah,” I say, scratching at the stubble on my neck that reminds me I need to fucking shave. “Just trying to figure out his angle.” I jerk my chin toward Elliot, who keeps finding small ways to touch her.
“His angle?” Eros laughs. “Probably ninety degrees. As in doggy style.”
I clench my jaw at the image of Elliot pounding into Evan from behind.
“Holy shit. You really are into her. I fucking knew it.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“Be careful,” he warns soberly.
“Not necessary. I’ve already cut it off.”
Eros nods his approval and gives me a clap on the back. “Aren’t we supposed to be letting people know she’s with us?”
“Lead the way.”
A half an hour after making it clear to every ride jock, jointee, roustabout, and performer that Evan was with us, therefore not to be fucked with, we made our way back to our bunkhouse. Evan asked if we had running water in the trailer and immediately seemed alarmed at the prospect of not being able to have daily showers. I let her squirm for a minute, knowing she was second-guessing her decision, before informing her that we did, in fact, have running water.
Eros, Tres, Lathan, and I sat outside, talking shit and drinking beer around the fire pit for all of five minutes before the conversation turned to Evan.
“What is your problem with her? Or is it me you have the problem with?” I ask, point-blank.
“I just want to know what you’re doing with her,” Lathan says, elbows propped on bent knees as he leans forward in one of the lawn chairs.
“She needs somewhere to go for the summer. End of story.”
He nods, but he doesn’t look convinced. “Does she know?”
I cut my eyes at him. “Why the fuck would she know?” There’s no point. It’s none of her business. After this summer, she’ll go back to her life and be none the wiser.
“I think maybe she should.” He shrugs. “Make sure she doesn’t have the wrong idea about things.”
“She doesn’t,” I grit out, sick of the third degree. We eye each other, neither one of us wanting to back down, but eventually he folds, looking away.
“She’s cool,” Tres chimes in. “And she has nice teeth.” Tres is the baby boy at seventeen, and we all look out for him more so than we do for each other. Maybe because he’s the youngest. Maybe because he’s the only one of us who isn’t a complete asshole.
Eros chuckles. “Rich people teeth. All white and straight. They probably cost more than your bike.”