Zoe leaned closer. “He gets really focused on what he’s doing. Like I disappear. It’s… I don’t know. I feel like a prop.”
“That’s not great.” Casey winced. “Are you going to keep seeing him?”
“For now. He’s nice enough. Has a good job, and he likes the same shows I do.” Zoe shrugged. “I’m giving it a chance.”
“See how it goes,” Casey said. “But don’t ignore your gut.”
Zoe didn’t reply. Instead, she guided Casey toward a booth strung with beaded bracelets and Celtic-knot pendants. Ryan hovered nearby, frowning at a group of women posing beside a row of Harleys like they were trying out for a calendar.
The path through the booths was jammed with families juggling corn dogs, couples lingering over T-shirts, the bass from the stage thrumming through the dirt beneath their boots. Zoe paused at nearly every jewelry table, searching for the perfect bracelet, but Casey’s gaze kept drifting toward the T-shirts, the bike display, the food tents… and the clusters of Insurgent members.
She told herself she was just taking in the festival. But deep down, she knew exactly who she was looking for.
“I love this type of jewelry,” Zoe said, trying on a ring with a Celtic cross design.
Casey picked up a pair of earrings, admiring the craftsmanship, but her eyes continued skimming the crowd, the bikes, the tents.
“This skull bracelet is perfect,” Zoe said, slipping one onto her wrist. “What do you think?”
Snapping her attention back, Casey looked at Zoe’s wrist: skulls with red crystal eyes encrusted a sterling silver bangle.
“I like it,” she said.
Ryan moved closer to them and wrinkled his nose. “Why would you want skulls on your wrist?”
“Because they look cool.” Zoe held up her arm, the red crystal eyes gleamed wickedly in the sunlight. “Wrap it up, please,” she said, handing the bracelet to the vendor.
Minutes later, Zoe looped her arm through Casey’s and pulled her toward the funnel-cake line, as Ryan started off in search of drinks for them.
“I need sugar.” She grinned.
They joined the queue, the warm smell of vanilla and frying batter wrapping around them. Kids darted under elbows, shrieking with laughter. Someone nearby let out a deep, rolling laugh so close tohisthat Casey’s head jolted up before she could stop herself.
Her gaze swept the crowd.
And then she saw him.
Rags stood near the custom motorcycle display, one hand resting easy on the handlebar of a black Harley, talking to another Insurgent. That slow, amused half-smile curved at the corner of his mouth—the same one that had messed with her head for days. The sight of him hit like a jolt straight to her chest.
Zoe elbowed her. “Your sexy biker showed up.”
“Don’t start,” Casey muttered.
“You’re the one staring, girl.”
“Not anymore,” she said, yanking her attention toward the funnel cake stand.
But she could still feel Rags—like heat against her skin from across the festival. She hated that he could do that to her. Hated it… and wanted more.
Ryan returned, oblivious, holding out two paper cups. “Warm apple cider okay?”
“Thanks,” Casey said, steadying her voice even as her fingers trembled. She took a sip, then let her gaze drift back toward the bikes.
Rags was looking straight at her. A lazy, knowing smirk curved his mouth, like he’d been waiting for her to meet his eyes.
Casey tore her gaze away, pulse thudding hard in her throat.
Zoe handed her a torn corner of funnel cake, powdered sugar falling in soft clouds around them. “You good?” she asked.