Marlowe
Reid was waiting for me by the fence line the next morning, which told me he'd either gotten braver overnight or stupider, and I hadn't decided which yet.
"You look like you didn't sleep." He said it pleasant, conversational, like we were two friends catching up instead of two people who both knew exactly what that note in my boot had actually meant.
"Funny how that happens when someone threatens you and signs it with a question mark instead of their name."
"Nobody threatened anybody." His smile didn't move, but his eyes did — quick, assessing, cataloguing my reaction the way he'd been cataloguing everything about me since the first day I walked through that gate. "I asked a question. You're the one who decided it was a threat."
"You nailed my boots to the floor, Reid."
"I to
