Draven steps in front of me, and for a second I can’t figure out what’s going on. Then it registers: he’s trying to protect me. From Jeremy. As if. I bite back another laugh. I took on Draven, Dante, and Nitro and came out victorious—except for the whole getting-tied-to-the-lab-table thing. I can certainly handle my ex-boyfriend.
I shove past Draven. I am more than capable of taking care of myself. He raises one dark brow at me, like he has no idea what I’m upset about. Which only annoys me more. If he expects me to trust him and Dante, then he needs to trust me. I wouldn’t bring someone onto the team who would sabotage our mission.
“Thanks for coming,” I tell Jeremy, and mean it.
“Any chance to hear you say that I was right…” He wraps an arm around my shoulders in a loose hug, then squeezes.
I’m a little surprised at the warmth of his greeting. Our breakup was unfriendly, to say the least, his conspiracy-theory rants having finally sent me over the edge. A year ago, our relationship went down in flames when he tried to convince me that the League was melting the polar ice caps so that Boulder could become beachfront property. We were in our favorite restaurant, and I ended up dumping a chocolate cherry milkshake—his least favorite flavor—on his head. It only went south from there.
But if he can put that incident behind us, so can I. Global warming is a problem for another day; I hug him back. We were friends long before we dated. And he did come all the way over here to help me the moment I told him about my mom.
However, as I pull away, I realize there’s more at play here than a simple greeting. Jeremy is smirking—actually smirking—at Draven, while Draven stares him down.
For a split second, I wonder what’s going on behind Draven’s storm-tossed eyes, but he’s not giving anything away. And I have more important things to worry about than some juvenile pissing contest.
“You were right. You were right. You were right,” I tell Jeremy, repeating the words like a mantra. When it comes to saving my mom and Deacon, I have no pride.
Besides, it turns out he was right when he said there was a secret faction of the superheroes doing evil in the name of justice—assuming they actually believe they’re doing a good thing. I wish I’d believed him twelve months ago, but since this theory was sandwiched between one about seeds with a latent gene that would trigger the zombie apocalypse and another that suggests Pop-Tarts are actually the government’s vehicle for mind-controlling teenagers, it was hard to take him seriously.
And we’re all paying the price because I didn’t.
“Hey, Reb.” Jeremy glances over and gives my best friend a sexy wink. “How you doing, girl?”
Dante growls.
It takes all my restraint not to laugh out loud. Rebel and Jeremy? That’s too funny, considering he’s actually terrified of her. This over-the-top flirty attitude is just his defense mechanism. He’d had to ask me out ten times before I saw through the smarmy act to the sweet guy below.
Rebel squeezes Dante’s arm before flouncing over to give Jeremy a hug. “Thanks for coming, Jeremy. Everything’s a mess.”
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ll fix it.”
“Don’t call her ‘babe,’” Dante says, stepping forward.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Jeremy asks cockily. “You?”
“Damn straight.” Dante lunges, but Rebel steps between them, wrapping her arms around her boyfriend’s waist and pulling him in close.
“Jeremy calls everyone ‘babe.’ It doesn’t mean anything.” She gives Dante another squeeze to reassure him whose babe she really is. “Besides, we need to stop sniping at each other and figure out what we’re going to do.”
“If we’re going to be working together,” Jeremy says, “do you want to introduce me to your new friends?”
“This is Draven.” I nod at the scowling villain standing behind me. “And that’s Dante.”
Jeremy jerks his chin at the guys in what could have been a friendly greeting if they hadn’t just snapped at each other.
“Now that everyone’s acquainted, can we get down to business, please?” I start to drag him through the garage and into the house.
Jeremy lets me lead him to the threshold, but refuses to go any further. He mouths something to me, but lip-reading has never been my thing.
“What?” I don’t get it.
He repeats himself three or four times, with increasingly exaggerated gestures, but I still have no idea what he’s trying to say. I throw my hands in the air. A glance at the others shows they’re as clueless as I am.
“Hey, dude, are we going to stand here playing charades all night?” Dante finally asks. “Or are you going to—”
Jeremy clamps his hand over Dante’s mouth before he can finish the sentence.
Needless to say, Dante doesn’t take well to what he perceives as an attack. He shoves Jeremy’s hand off his face, twisting his arm into a position that it was never supposed to bend. “Don’t touch me.”
“Ow, ow, ow!” Jeremy squeals. “Don’t hurt the typing fingers!”
“Let him go, Dante.” I tug at his arm until he releases Jeremy.