My Favourite Mistake. Chelsea Cameron M.

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      Three

      I didn’t go back inside until my hand hurt so much that I desperately needed ice. The living room was quiet when I snuck in. Most of the boxes were gone, and Darah was unpacking her pots and pans in the kitchen.

      “Hey, are you okay? We were kinda worried about you. Hunter, Renee and Mase went to get pizza.”

      “I’m fine. Just need some ice,” I said, holding up my hand, which was purpling all over my knuckles.

      “Oh my God,” she said, running to the freezer. Luckily, someone had left an ice pack in the freezer that maintenance had forgotten to clean out. She wrapped it in a dish towel she took out of one of the boxes and handed it to me.

      “How’s his face?” I kind of wished I’d messed it up, just a little.

      “You got him pretty good. He’s already getting a bruise.” Score.

      “Did his nuts recover?”

      “I think he’ll be able to have children someday,” she said, studying me as if I was going to freak and do it again. She leaned on the counter, her organizing abandoned for now. “What happened? All he’d tell us is that he said something that pissed you off and that he deserved it.”

      “He said that?” I winced as the cold ice met my burning hand. I was surprised. I thought he’d blame everything on me and call me a psycho bitch. In the back of my mind I’d had a tiny ray of hope that my display of violence had freaked him out so much his stuff would be gone when I got back. No such luck.

      “Yeah, he did.”

      “Huh.”

      Voices drifted down the hall. Familiar voices. I turned around, and they stopped when they saw me. Hunter had two pizza boxes, and Renee carried two bags with chips and soda. Mase had what probably was some beer, cleverly concealed in two layers of shopping bags.

      “Hey,” I said to all of them.

      They entered cautiously, in a way that was almost funny. I was both the shortest and youngest person in the room, but they were wary of me.

      “How’s your hand?” Renee said, setting the bags down on the dining table.

      “Fine,” I said. She started examining it anyway, and I looked at Hunter. “How’s your face? And your balls?” I cracked a smile, hoping it wasn’t too crazy looking.

      Hunter grinned back at me.

      “Both will recover, I think. You’ve got a hell of a hook, Missy,” he said, touching his jaw. There was an impressive-looking bluish mark starting. Nice.

      “I misjudged you, I think. Respect,” Mase said, coming over and holding his hand up for a fist bump. I gave him one with my left hand, and he gave me a wink. Guess the cocky behavior was genetic.

      “I got this one with all the veggies. Wasn’t sure what you liked,” Hunter said, holding out one of the pizza boxes toward me. Everyone held their breath as I took the box from Hunter. Hell, it was more delicious than an olive branch.

      “Olives,” I said. “I hate olives. Everything else is fair game.”

      “Shall we?” Renee said, now that the tension was broken.

      “Sure,” I said, cracking open the box.

      The heavenly scent of Pat’s pizza filled my nose. It had been the same recipe for however many years it had been open, serving hungry, hungover or stoned college students for decades. Somehow they had found the perfect ratio of cheese to sauce to thin crust to toppings. A perfect ratio, which was why they’d survived for so long in a town that had at least twelve СКАЧАТЬ