“We need to talk,” she said.
I took a bite of my pizza while Kat eyed Billy like she wanted to take him down. The human boy must’ve sensed it, because he lifted his hands as he backed away. “Okay, well, I’ll talk to you later, Daemon.”
I nodded without taking my eyes off her. “What’s up, Kitten? Come to apologize?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Uh, no I’m not here to apologize. You owe me an apology.”
“How do you see that?” I took a drink.
Steam was seconds from pouring out of her ears. “Well, for starters, I’m not an ass. You are.”
I chuckled. “That’s a good start.”
“And I got Dawson to heel.” She smiled victoriously while I was feeling the exact opposite of that. “And—wait. This isn’t even important. God, you always do this.”
“Do what?” My gaze slid back to her, and even though she was pissed at me and I was angry at her, she was so freaking hot when she was mad. Her cheeks got all flushed, her eyes deepened to a stormy gray, and I wanted to lay her out on one of those tables.
“Distract me with the inane,” she said. “And in case you don’t know what that means: silly—you always distract me with something silly.”
I finished off my pizza. “I know what ‘inane’ means.”
“Shocker,” she retorted.
A slow smile inched across my lips. “I must be really distracting you, because you still haven’t told me what you need to talk to me about.”
Kat might hit me. “I saw—”
Tommy Cruz, football player and friend of the most likely dead Simon, knocked into Kat. No accident. Hell no. I straightened, pushing off the wall.
“Oh, sorry,” Tommy snickered. “Didn’t notice—”
Moving fast, I grabbed a fistful of Tommy’s shirt and pushed him back against the wall, lining him up with the stupid-ass mascot painted on the wall. Tommy’s eyes bugged. I waited for him to piss himself as he gasped out, “Jesus.”
I lifted the milk carton with my other hand, getting it nice and close with his face. “See this milk carton? Do you want to see your face on the back of it? No? Didn’t think so. Touch her again and it’ll be there.”
“Boys!” Coach Vincent’s voice rang out. “Break it up! Both of you! Break it up.”
Silence descended in the crowded cafeteria.
Tommy’s wide gaze darted around, as if he really thought someone was going to intervene. Wasn’t going to be his coach. Oh no, Coach was rocking the Luxen highway. I smiled at him as I slowly released my grip on his shirt, stepped back, and then dumped the milk carton over his head.
Kat slapped her hand over her mouth as sticky white liquid ran down Tommy’s face. Laughter rose from behind me as I patted a clean spot on his chest. “Glad we’ve reached an understanding.” Tossing the empty carton in the trash, I turned to the coach. “Sorry about that. Those milk cartons are slippery buggers.”
Coach stared back with a blank expression. “Get out of here. Now.”
Curving my fingers around Kat’s elbow, I guided her around and started down the aisle. “Overreact much?” she whispered, face burning bright.
I shrugged. “It made me feel better. And I know you thought it was funny.”
She cracked a tiny smile. “Yeah, okay. I did. A lot. Thank you.”
“Uh-huh.” I led her down the hall, stopping by the gym doors. She turned, leaning against the wall. I placed my hands on either side of her head and lowered my forehead to hers. “Can I tell you something?”
She nodded.
“I find it incredibly attractive when you’re all feisty with me.” I brushed my lips against her temple, smiling. “That probably makes me disturbed. But I like it.”
“Focus,” she said when my lips were near hers. She placed her hands on my chest, pushing lightly. “I have something more important to tell you than what disturbing things get you hot.”
I grinned as I backed off. “Okay, back to what you saw. I’m focused. My head’s in the game and all that.”
Kat laughed under her breath, but the sound vanished as she drew in a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure I saw Blake today.”
I cocked my head to the side. I did not hear that right. There was no way that idiot came back here. If so, he was a dead SOB, and he knew it. “Say what?”
“I think I saw Blake here, just a few minutes ago.”
“How sure are you? Did you see him—his face?” My hands curled at my sides as a wave of anger rose swiftly.
“Yeah, I saw—” She stopped, her nose scrunching. “I didn’t see his face.”
Didn’t see his face? How could she be sure she saw him then? I let out a low breath as a different kind of concern took root. “Okay. What did you see?”
“A hat—a trucker hat,” she said, her fingers fidgeting. “That had a surfboard on it. And I saw his hand…”
“So, let me get this right. You saw a hat and a hand?”