Vendetta(20)

“Ignore Luca. That’s just his bad attempt at trash-talking you,” Nic cut in, sending his brother a glare on my behalf.

“And my way of pointing out that she’s small,” Luca added.

“Thanks, Sherlock. I know I’m small.”

“Just making sure.”

“Do you even have a brain-to-mouth filter?” I asked.

“I try not to overuse it,” he returned blithely.

“Clearly.”

“Don’t cry about it, Day-Glo.”

“Shut up, Luca.” Nic threw his red vest over his head and pulled it down. “I think you make it look good, Sophie.”

“Cazzo, here we go again,” muttered Luca. He rolled his eyes and then leaned into Ponytail, adding in a calculated whisper, “This is what he was like at the diner. It was so annoying.”

“You know, Luca, you’re really good at strategically muttering things just loud enough to be offensive.”

“Thank you, Sophie.” His tone lifted, rendering his false sincerity almost believable. “I appreciate that.”

“I should get you a medal.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, a lazy smirk forming. “After today, I’ll have a trophy.”

I curled my lip. “I know what you can do with that trophy …”

Millie’s laugh drowned out the rest of my reply. She hugged her arm around my side, pinching me through the vest. Squeal, squeal, squeal.

“So what’s your team’s name?” Nic cut in, strategically guiding the conversation out of the gutter.

I puffed up my chest and brushed the stray strands of now-white hair away from my face. “The Human Highlighters.”

Luca snorted.

“What’s yours?” asked Millie, but she wasn’t directing her question at Nic; she was looking at Hair Gel, her teeth gently pulling at her bottom lip.

I zeroed in on his face — Millie was right, there was a scar. It was obviously an old injury, slicing through his left eyebrow and glowing silvery against his tanned skin. On instinct, I glanced at Nic’s bruised hand, and felt an uneasiness bubbling in my stomach. I pushed it away.

“The Crimson Falcons,” Hair Gel replied to Millie, falling right into her trap and watching her lips hungrily.

“Intense,” said Millie, her expression entirely coquettish.

“It was either that or the Angel-makers,” Luca added. His humor was so deadpan, sometimes I didn’t know if he was funny or just insane.

“Stop it.” Nic punched Luca in the arm with an audible thump, but his brother didn’t flinch. If I had received that hit I would have been on the ground screaming for my mother.

“Calmati! I think I’d better defuse this,” Hair Gel cut in, moving easily from one language to the next, just like Nic and Luca did. It was hard to tell which was their real accent — American or Italian. Hair Gel leaned over to shake our hands, holding Millie’s a little longer than mine and, I noticed, stroking his thumb over hers. Maybe Millie had finally met her flirting match. “I’m Dominico. You can call me Dom, though.”

Millie broke into the creepiest giggle I’ve ever heard. “I’m Millie. This is Sophie. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Welcome to the neighborhood? I’d have to tease her about that later. Maybe she could stop by his house with a basket of muffins.

“Thank you. Do you work at the diner as well, Millie?” Dom lingered over her name like it was a beautiful flower. His charm offensive was almost as powerful as Nic’s, but his eyes were darker, his expression intense. I studied his scar as he moved away from me, beginning his own hushed conversation with Millie.

I felt Nic’s attention on me again. “Good luck today,” he offered earnestly.

“Thanks, you too.” There were other things I wanted to say to him, but with Luca and Ponytail watching us I could barely utter a word without feeling self-conscious.

“We don’t need luck,” Luca interrupted, prompting another exasperated thump from Nic.

“Luca,” Ponytail whined. His voice was abnormally high and not unlike Marge Simpson’s, and for a terrifying moment I thought I was going to laugh in his face. He frowned, and his eyebrows bled into one fuzzy caterpillar above coffee-colored eyes. “Can we just go register?”

“Yeah, let’s go, Gino. We shouldn’t be fraternizing with our competition anyway.” Luca elbowed Nic as he retreated. “Andiamo, Loverboy.”

“I should probably go get ready,” Nic offered apologetically. “Wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of our wonderful dictator.”

“Same here,” I said, but both of us still lingered. “Where’s the rest of your team anyway? Don’t you have a fifth player?”