Wicked Games (Hartley Grace Featherstone Mysteries Book 3) by Gemma Halliday (best e reader for manga txt) 📗

I rolled my eyes at the dangerous artwork. "The very fact you used the word hip contradicts that statement, Mom."

"Tonight."

"What tonight?"

"You should invite him over to dinner tonight."

"No." I shook my head, a little voice inside screaming Danger, Danger, abort phone call! "I mean, don't you think that's a little short notice? He's a really busy guy. He probably already has plans."

He'd better have plans.

"Ask anyway," Mom persisted.

"I'm sure he'll say no. Like I said, he's super busy with…stuff."

"I'm making veggie loaf and mac and cheese."

Considering Mom's version of mac and cheese had no actual macaroni nor any cheese in it, that was not winning her the argument.

"I think maybe you're making a bigger deal out of my friendship with Chase than it really is," I told her.

"Come on, Hartley," she said, her tone going from defensive to pleading. "It will be fun. David will be here."

"Again?" I asked, unable to keep the note of annoyance from my voice.

"Yes, again. What? I thought you liked him?"

"What on earth could have possibly given you that idea?"

"He likes you," she said, trying to convince me.

I highly doubted that. I was pretty sure he saw me as a necessary evil in the path to more canoodling on my mom's sofa. "You aren't actually serious about Raley, right?" I asked, hating how much the answer meant to me.

"Hart." Mom's voice was softer this time, a note of concern in it. "I know it's weird for you to see me dating."

That was an understatement.

"But he's a really nice guy."

"You don't know that for sure," I told her. "I mean, he could be just laying it on thick to get you…"

"Into bed?" Mom asked, a teasing note in her voice. "I'm not that naïve, Hartley. I've been around the block a couple of times, you know?"

"Okay, you know what? Let's not talk about this."

Mom chuckled. "Fine. I promise I won't discuss anything relating to S-E-X in front of you and your boyfriend at dinner tonight."

"Friend!" I said. Loudly enough that the clerk at the check-in desk frowned my way. "He's just a friend."

"Great. I expect to see you and your friend at six."

"But Mom—"

Only that was as far as I got before she hung up on me.

CHAPTER NINE

I walked back to the chairs and sat beside Sam.

Chase frowned at me. "What?"

"What, what?" I asked.

"What is that look on your face?"

"I don't have a look on my face." I tried to erase any sort of look that might have indicated I was envisioning awkward conversation over veggie loaf. But by the way Chase smirked at me, I wasn't sure I succeeded.

"Was that your mom?" He nodded toward my phone, still in my hand.

"Yeah." I paused, shooting a glance at him. I wasn't sure if I should tell him about my mom's dinner invitation or just pretend the whole conversation had never happened.

"Everything okay?" he asked, genuine concern pulling his dark eyebrows together.

I nodded. "Mostly." I paused again, gathering courage. I had no idea how he'd take this next news. "She wants me to invite you to dinner tonight."

Sam did a laugh slash snort thing beside me. "Dude."

But my eyes were on Chase, gauging his reaction. Unfortunately, he didn't give me much to go on, the frown slowly ironing out as his shoulders bobbed up and down in a shrug. "Sure."

I blinked at him. That was it? Just sure.

When I didn't reply from shock, he added, "Sounds like fun."

"You have a funny definition of fun," I mumbled.

Sam snorted beside me again.

I shot her a death look, but she innocently kept her eyes on her phone. No doubt texting Kyle all about it even as we sat there.

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later, my stomach was growling, Sam had miraculously run out of things to say to Kyle and was playing a puzzle game on her phone, and Chase was pacing the marble tiled floor and glancing down the hall toward the meeting rooms every few seconds, looking a lot like a caged animal.

I tilted my head up and started counting the ceiling tiles. I'd reached forty-three when I finally heard the squeak of sneakers on polished floor approaching. My pulse sped up in anticipation, and I scooted to the edge of my chair.

Sam and Chase turned too, and sure enough Phoebe Lyons' form appeared, making quick tracks toward the exit.

Like her team, she wore a Peak Games T-shirt, but she'd paired it with a black blazer and a pair of skinny slacks that ended just a couple of inches above her sneakers. Gold hoop earrings swung from her ears as she approached us, and a messenger bag was slung over one shoulder.

"Phoebe!" Chase called.

Her head swiveled our way, and a small frown of confusion played on her face.

"Hi! Chase Erikson. Intern hopeful." He shot her a big toothy grin.

Recognition dawned in her eyes. "Right." Her gaze went to Sam and me briefly. "Hi."

"Hi. I'm glad we caught you."

"Oh?" Her right eyebrow lifted, some of the confusion back.

"We were hoping we could talk to you about Connor Simon," I jumped in.

"Why?" It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected some emotion flitting behind her eyes.

"Because you lied to us," I said, cutting to the chase.

"Excuse me?" The indignation was clear in her voice.

"You said you weren't at Gamer Con the day Connor Simon died."

Phoebe frowned. "I never said I wasn't at the convention that day," she told us, and I could see her picking her words carefully. "I just said I wasn't there when Connor died."

"So you admit that you were at the convention