Wicked
Page 17

And I hated Ren for using that against me. "You're a dick."
Some of the humor slipped out of his eyes. "You know, I've been called that a time or two."
"No big surprise." Without saying goodbye, I turned and walked toward the sidewalk. I started to turn back toward Bourbon, but stopped when I remembered the damn beignets I promised Tink.
If I came home without beignets, Tink would probably cut my hair off while I slept. Sighing, I spun in the other direction and headed toward Café Du Monde. At this time of night, the place was going to be packed.
"Where are you going?" Ren asked from behind me.
I cursed under my breath. "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to get some beignets."
"Right now?" He fell in step beside me. "Are they really that good?"
Sending him a disbelieving stare, I shook my head. "You haven't tried them yet? That's like the first thing everyone does when they come to New Orleans."
"No." He scanned the sidewalk, frowning as he passed a couple that looked like they were about to make a baby on the sidewalk. "I haven't had a lot of time."
I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but then again, I really didn't want to chat with him either. He wasn't going to tell me how he was so sure that fae was an ancient or anything of real value, and I wasn't sure I even believed him.
If David didn't think it was a real threat and Trent obviously thought a brick in my foundation was loose, then why would Ren, a complete stranger, be the only person who believed that the ancients were around?
Ren didn't talk as he followed me to the Café, and I did my best to ignore him, but it was hard to pretend he didn't exist when he was a six foot four prime specimen of a man walking beside me.
He also waited in the long ass line, under the bright ass lights, a quiet presence behind me. At least I was able to see more of the tattoo. What traveled down his arms was a network of intricate vines, shades of deep greens and grays. The ropey design twisted together, reminding me of a Celtic knot. The vine curved over the top of his hand and between his fingers. I couldn't think of a time I'd seen a tattoo like that before. When I placed two orders and stepped aside, Ren looked at me curiously.
"I'm super hungry," I muttered.
He grinned.
Our orders came around at the same time, and it was weird as we walked out together, as if we really were together. Part of me wanted to see his reaction when he had his first bite of the sugary beignet. The first time was always an experience to treasure.
But we weren't friends. We barely knew each other, and he practically kidnapped me off the street. Curling my fingers around the bag, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other then glanced over at him. "Well, I'll see you around."
He didn't say anything but tilted his head to the side. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like if he and I met under . . . well, under normal circumstances. Like if we shared a class at Loyola. I probably would've been thrilled to get to know him better, to see how far that tattoo traveled, but we weren't normal, and this was just awkward. Sighing, I turned away.
"Ivy?" he called out.
As if compelled, I turned to face him again.
Ren stood mostly in the shadows, just outside the light spilling out of the café and across the sidewalk. "Don't do anything stupid. Go home. Be safe."
Then he was gone, disappearing into the group of people crossing the street.
~
With only a few hours of sleep before my morning class at Loyola, I was Cranky McCranky-Pants, especially since I skipped the pain pill so I didn't risk the chance I'd start drooling on myself any more than normal.
On days like these, when I was recovering from a bullet wound and had little sleep, I wondered the same thing Val did. Why in the world was I going to college? I could be in bed, all cuddled up and shit, dreaming about hot men with abs covered in powdered sugar.
Okay. That just sounded weird.
But I had two classes on Friday—Philosophy and Statistics. The first I didn't mind, and I actually found it interesting. When it came to Statistics, I'd prefer plucking my eyelashes out with a rusty pair of pliers.
I was able to grab a sandwich before Statistics, and forced myself into my seat. As I waited for the professor to find his way, which would be a while because even he seemed to dread attending the class, my thoughts drifted back to last night—to Ren.
One thing that had kept me up almost all night was the fact that I hadn't asked him what he was doing following what he claimed was an ancient—what had to be an ancient. I'd been so wrapped up in the fact that he'd grabbed me and known the fae was an ancient that I hadn't thought to question what the hell he was doing.
The only thing I could figure out was that Ren was hunting the ancient, but what made him—
"You look like crap today."
I turned to the left, watching as Jo Ann Woodward dropped into the seat beside me. "Thanks. I feel even better now."
She laughed softly as she pulled the massive Statistics text out of her bag and tucked thick, almond colored hair behind her ear. "That was mean of me." The text thumped off the desk—the book was so big and thick, I was sure I could turn it into a deadly weapon. "Seriously, are you feeling well?"
I really liked Jo Ann. I met her my first year at Loyola in one of my Intro to Psych classes, and I'd immediately hit it off with the curvy brunette. She was genuinely nice and as sweet as a strawberry dipped in sugar. Like one of those rare people that honestly didn't have a bad word to say about anyone, she was the kind of person I really wanted to be best friends with, and when I hung out with her, I felt . . . normal.