Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

“I know, right?”

“When you’re old enough for the Vegas casinos, I’ll get you into one of their poker tourneys.”

Her eyes light up. “Really?”

“Really.” This kid is gonna steal someone’s savings out from under them. And I want to be there to witness it.

We shuffle forward in line.

Someone’s fallen popcorn crunches under my tennis shoes, and when I glance down, I notice the laces on my left shoe are coming undone.

I make sure there’s enough room between me and the family in line behind us, then I crouch down and start retying my laces.

“What are you doing?” Chelsea snaps.

Her tone is surprisingly angry, so I jerk my head up, but she’s not talking to me. Instead, she’s talking to some teenage punk that just stepped in front of her in line.

The boy shrugs. “Cutting.”

Oh, hell no.

“Go to the back of the line, Ken.”

Ken? What fucking parent named their kid Ken?

“No,” the little shit answers with his back to Chelsea.

I rise to my full height.

“I’m telling you for the last time,” Chelsea grits out.

Her tone is full of derision, and it makes me proud as hell.

“Or what?” Ken says in a stupid tone as he starts to turn around. “You gonna make me?”

I move so I’m next to Smidge and cross my arms. Shoulders back. Mad Dog face in place.

“No,” Chelsea snarks. “But he will.”

Ken opens his dumb mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stares up at me, with his eyes bugging out of his head.

Beside me, Chelsea shifts her stance, and I’m sure it’s full of attitude.

Ken starts to move his attention back to Chelsea.

“Back of the line, Ken.” I use my deepest voice before he can say something to Smidge that will piss me all the way off.

The teen makes a face like he’s fighting with himself whether to say something shitty or not, and apparently, the smart half wins because he stomps off.

We’re silent for a moment before I look down at Chelsea. “So, he kinda sucks.”

“Oh my god, that was the best thing ever!” She cackles. “I need to bring you to school with me.”

I scowl. “Are you getting bullied?”

She waves that off as we move ahead in the line. “What? No. But some boys are just annoying.”

I mentally double down on Ruth’s no dating until thirty-five rule. “Boys are the worst. Don’t trust any of them.”