The King

Mason

I cut through the crowd to find Harley sitting at her table. She had her feet up and was picking the black nail polish off her fingers. When she spotted me, she swung her feet down, stood up, and walked around the table to wrap her arms around my shoulders. “I’m so happy to see you,” she said.

I hugged her back. She smelled like cinnamon and apples. “It’s good to see you too, Harley. Thanks for what you did for me on Saturday. For Laina.”

She pulled away but held onto my shoulders. “That girl is going to get herself into trouble if she doesn’t get a grip on that temper of hers. She reminds me of someone else I know.” She winked.

I smirked. “Yeah. I won’t say you’re wrong.”

“Good.” She patted my cheek before walking around the table. “What are you driving?”

“A Boxster.”

She arched an eyebrow at me and held her pen above the registration paper.

“I know,” I said. “It’s not mine. But it’s