A roar thunders from me as I turn around and smash my fist into the dumpster. A rocket of pain jolts through me, and something about that knife-sharp sensation feels like a damn good release.
“I’m sorry, Steph,” I whisper under my breath. I know she wouldn’t have wanted me to take off like that. I know she would have probably wanted me to give Bryson a hug for her. She was that nice. Hell, she would have wanted me to do the same for Owen. But I’m not into doling out free hugs just yet. I’m not looking to build a buddingbromancewith anyone even remotely connected to her death.
Bromance, romance. Darcy pops into my head. All those years of trying to make it work, trying to convince myself that she was right—that we were meant to be, that my sister’s death was simply clouding up the atmosphere between us. I’m still not sure if it was true or not, but I knew we needed to get off that merry-go-round. Deep down, I don’t miss her. Not in the desperate sense you would miss someone you love, not like I miss Steph for damn sure. But there wasn’t a spark. At least not like there is with Ava.
I blink back at the night sky a few times. What the hell was that? Do I have sparks with Ava? Should I be entertaining the thought?
I’d better get home. Better throw myself in bed and pray to God I fall asleep. My mind is slipping. There’s no way there’s a spark between Ava and me.
Nope. Owen and Bryson got in my head, and now my thoughts are unspooling. I always knew Stephanie’s death had the power to drive me to the brink of insanity.
And here I am.
Already gone.
On Friday night, the stands fill fast and steady as Whitney Briggs’ homecoming pregame madness sets in. The cheerleaders are doing their thing. The band is pumping up the crowd to unstoppable levels of self-righteous Mustang indignation. The home team has to take it all the way tonight, or they stand a chance to get lynched by the mob.
“You think they got this?” I shove my arm to Lawson’s as we make our way to the student section.
“My stepbrother’s got this. Rex is that good.”
“I know it. You tell me each and every time we hit a game.”
Lawson has nothing but nice things to say about his stepbrother lately, which is ironic because he all but threatened to pound his face in last summer. I guess his sister and Rex, the quarterback stepbrother, have been hitting the sheets. It made Lawson lose his mind for about a month straight. One night, he lost his shit on Bacardi and threatened to hunt Rex down and feed him his fist. Rush and I pretty much put a stop to it by locking him in his bedroom. He thanked us in the morning.
“Rush, my man!” Lawson belts it out as we thread our way in, fifth row up. It’s nothing but elbows and knees as we scoot our way into the middle of the bleachers. I still can’t see Rush, but I’m trusting that he’s there. First man in the bleachers always saves a seat.
“What’s up?” It’s not until Rush leans in to offer up a high five do I notice his hand is wrapped around a familiar, knife-you-in-the-gut stunning brunette, Ava. Lucky and Harper sit on the other side of Rush, but I can’t take my eyes off this girl right here.
Her hair is pulled back, showing off that glowing skin, those eyes that shine like a tropical sea, and those lips. Poets could write epics about Ava’s beautiful mouth. I swallow hard just thinking about ways I’d like to map it out.
“I’m so glad you’re here!” she screams as the roar of the crowd grows with ferocity. Ava wraps both arms around Rush and gives him a squeeze that looks as if it could land him in the ER.
Was she talking to him? My ego takes a hit at the thought. Ava and I’ve been inseparable for the last few weeks. Sure, she’s mentioned Rush a time or twelve, but I didn’t think she was serious. For sure she hasn’t mentioned the urge to squeeze his insides out of his throat. Not sure why the sight of them together pisses me off—most likely because I know Rush. I know about those girls he’s forever dragging up to his room. It’s not a pretty scene. Ava would hate it. She should hate it.
Lawson goes to take the seat next to her, and I step in front of him, effectively scooting him over one. There’s no way I’m letting Rush get away with manhandling my kid sister like that. I scowl over at him, but Rush hardly seems to notice. And once the WB Mustangs charge onto the field, Ava seems long forgotten by him. Rush is too busy screaming along with the rest of the crowd as blue and orange confetti rain down over the stands, pumping up the crowd ten times louder than before.
The game gets underway, and we finally take our seats. I butt my shoulder into Ava’s because it’s sort of become our thing.
“How’d that paper go?” I know for a fact it was due today. I checked out the final version last night when she sent it to me around midnight. I didn’t mind. That’s what I’m here for, right? Plus, I kind of like the twenty-four seven communication we’ve got going. It makes this bond the Greeks are trying to force on us feel real. Everything about Ava feels real.
“I sent it off right after you told me it was destined for scholastic gold.” Her candy pink lips curl up on the corners, and something about that tiny gesture melts the pit of my stomach in a pool of heat.
What the hell. She’s cute, that’s all—in a baby sister kind of a way. Ava is bundled in a bright red pea coat with a white turtleneck peeking out from underneath—a blue Mustang scarf wrapped tight around her neck. She looks cozy, like someone you can cuddle up with, you know, to keep warm. My stomach churns as she clutches on to Rush like she’s about to fall off a building.
“I’m here, too, you know.” I give a playful wink. I’d hate to give her the wrong signal. Not that Rush is giving her the right one.
The crowd shoots to its feet, and judging by the way Rush picks up Ava and spins her, the team just did something short of a miracle on the field.
“Crap,” I say it under my breath before pretending to get lost in the emotion of the game myself, high-fiving Rush while pushing him down the row about six seats, but he doesn’t mind. As soon as the crowd settles, he sits down near Lawson, and the two of them continue to scream their heads off.
“Hey!” Ava falls into the seat next to me, threading her arm through mine. The sweet scent of her perfume wraps its vaporous arms around me, and it feels like home. Ava’s perfume is the perfect combination of sexy and sweet, just like she is. My eyes widen at the thought. “Where’s my date?”
“He’s not your date.” I shake my head at the field. There’s no way he’s her date. Rush doesn’t do dates. He specializes infucks, not anything as humble as a quasi-chaste outing.
“Well, I need a date.” Those long lashes of her flutter like a pair of night birds about to take flight. “It’s my first homecoming. I need something decent to write in my diary.”
My entire body warms as she smiles at me. “You keep a diary?”
