Connor steps forward. “What are you, back alley thugs? Let her go, Matt. Then we can talk.”
The few other clusters of people in the yard begin to watch. Through my struggle, I spot a Tinkerbell, a Peter Pan, a green-clad superhero and Dobby, the house elf. The green-clad superhero edges forward, and just when I think he’s coming to my rescue, Matt releases his hold on me, and I finish the distance to Lo.
He quickly places two hands on my cheeks, inspecting the length of my body with his gaze.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, more worried about his state. “Stop fueling them.”
His eyes harden, his cheekbones sharpening which turn his lips into a pout. “Just get behind me.”
“Lo,” I panic, my chest constricting.
“If something happens,” Lo breathes as he pushes me back. “Run to Connor’s limo. Don’t wait for me, okay?”
“No.” My eyes bug. “Lo, please—”
“This kid owes us forty grand,” Matt sneers, turning the spotlight back on Lo and off Connor. Why would Connor even help us? It may damage his reputation beyond repair.
“I’m not giving you a cent,” Lo spits. “How the hell was I supposed to know the liquor was off limits? There wasn’t a sign.”
“It was locked,” says the blue-bandana cousin.
Lo opens his mouth again, and I pinch his arm, shooting him a glare. We need to leave, preferably together. He clenches his jaw and thankfully shuts up.
Matt steers his heated glower back to Connor. “Do you think we’re going to overlook this because you’re Connor Cobalt? You realize that anyone else would be blacklisted by now.” Oooh, blacklisted. Lo and I are probably crossed off all lists in the affluent Philly circle. If it wasn’t for Connor, we wouldn’t have even passed the doors.
“Blacklist me, then,” Connor says. “This is a terrible party. You didn’t even bother to serve food.”
Matt’s head jerks back in surprise. “You’re going to choose them over us?”
Connor nods, his muscles tensing. “Yep. Let’s see what we have here. Net worth of maybe”—he scans the mansion behind me—“twenty-five million combined.” He points to Lo and me. “Calloway and Hale. That’s every fucking soda can in your house and all your little nephews and nieces’ diapers. Billions. So yeah, I’m going to side with the two people that make your inheritances look like chump change.”
I gape, not expecting any of that, mostly about Connor being our friend in a few days. He collects people, and Lo and I are gold nuggets in his jar. It’s been so long that anyone has stuck up for us that I slide past the superficiality in his motives. Having an ally is nice. Desperate, yes, but no one said Lo and I are perfect either.
Matt and the other Ninja Turtles look stupefied, trying to process our wealth and our last names. Then he laughs in cruel amusement. “Well then, I suppose with your means you’ll have no problem taking that pacifier out of your ass and reimbursing us for what you drank.”
Lo’s expression grows dark. I put my hand in his, hoping he’s not about to be belligerent and argumentative. I trust Lo to stand down with me here, but once I leave, anything can happen.
“Fuck you,” Lo curses.
Connor cuts in before one of the cousins raises a fist to make Lo pay it. “Will your uncle really care? Forty grand is nothing.”
“He drank a car, Connor,” Matt says in disbelief. “That’s more than some people make in a goddamn year! Yeah, he’ll be pissed, and Diaper Rash over there can easily afford it. Pay up, or we’re going to find collateral until you grab your fucking checkbook.” They eye me, and I back up into the cold stone. Lo glances over his shoulder, all sharp lines, and when he feels that I’m safe, he steps forward.
No! I lunge and grab his wrist.
“Lily—”
“He can’t pay it,” I defend.
“Lily,” Lo warns. “Don’t.”
I seal my lips, not about to spill Lo’s personal life to strangers. His father put him on a stringent allowance, tying up his bank account and pooling in money on a monthly basis. He supervises every transaction, calling Lo when there are any big purchases. That four thousand-dollar champagne at the Italian restaurant plus his other expenses wiped him clean this month.
And if he overdraws, Jonathan Hale will throw a fit.
“You really expect me to believe that, sweetheart?” Matt says. No, he wouldn’t.