The Scumbag's Guide To Heroism novel Chapter 454

Chapter 454: 454 | I Still Come First

The laugh that came out of Sloane was the unguarded kind, the version that crinkled her nose and showed her back teeth and made the Bond sing with genuine delight. I filed the sound in the same category as the forty-seven Radiant videos and the framed photograph on my desk: things worth keeping because they couldn’t be replicated.

She demanded the full story. I gave her the edited version that omitted nothing of substance but trimmed the FMK game down to "Caden has strong opinions about Grande Dame" and redirected through the boardwalk, the ramen, Percy’s first arcade experience. Enough detail that Sloane stopped eating to listen, which meant the story was good because Sloane never stopped eating for anything less than compelling.

"Percy told me he’s going to tell Rina about the arcade because he wants to study the acoustics of her laugh."

Sloane’s expression softened in a way that the Bond confirmed as genuine rather than performed. "That’s the sweetest thing I’ve heard this month and I hate that it came from an analytical observation about sound waves."

"He means it though."

"Obviously he means it. Percy Mendoza has never said a word he didn’t mean in his entire life." She pointed a chopstick at me. "Unlike some people in this room."

"I mean everything I say."

"You mean approximately sixty percent of what you say and the other forty percent is strategy." The chopstick didn’t waver. "I have data."

I pushed off the doorframe and crossed to the bed, sitting on the edge while Sloane continued eating with the container balanced on her knee. The Bond settled into its evening register, warm and steady, the frequency of two people who had fought about something earlier and resolved it through the specific alchemy of time and proximity and ramen.

"Felicity wants to hang out tonight."

Sloane’s chopsticks paused for exactly one-point-two seconds. Not long enough to constitute alarm. Long enough to register that the information had been received and was being processed through the seventeen separate filters that Sloane applied to any sentence containing Felicity Hardy’s name.

"Where?"

"My room."

The Bond carried a flash of heat that was territorial rather than angry. Sloane resumed eating with deliberate calm. "Doing what?"

"She said activities. With a smiley face."

"A smiley face." Sloane ate three more bites of ramen before responding, which I recognized as strategic delay designed to prevent herself from saying the first four things that came to mind. "You told me about this before it happened. That was our deal."

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