“He is interested in you, fyi.” Twiggy’s quiet statement broke up our middle school giggles and I brushed my hair back, looking at her.
“What?” She opened her mouth to repeat herself and I shook my head. “I mean, how would you know that?”
“He asked about you the other day. Said he saw you at Karli’s and thought you were hot.”
“Oh. That was probably because I gave him my very best RBF. It turns the guys on.”
“What’s RBF?” Sammy asked, walking in as Brodie held the patio doors open wide enough for him to slide in. Gunner followed, a plate of steaks and grilling utensils in hand.
“Resting bitch face,” I explained.
“Cotton has the absolute best RBF,” Shiloh chimed in, attempting and failing to produce said face. “She says she bestowed it upon you at Karli’s the other day, Brodie.”
I stared at Shiloh, this girl who had been my friend since we were in middle school, and thought seriously about a punch to the boobs. I stepped deliberately on her toe, instead, hiding a grin when she winced. Her matchmaking skills needed work.
His glance flicked to me and lingered. “Did she now? And what did I do to deserve this bitch face?”
“Ah…” I hesitated, hating for the first time since puberty being the center of attention. “It wasn’t a big deal. You blew past my car on your bike when I was pulling back on to the road. Made my life flash before me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I should take you for that ride, loosen you up a bit.”
The others groaned in unison. “Lame, dude,” Sammy clapped him on the shoulder with his free hand. “Everyone knows you need a wheelchair to get a chick.”
“Now that was lame, and very un-funny.” Twiggy swatted at him and he snaked an arm around her waist before dropping a hard kiss on her mouth. They had been a surprise. It was a scant two months following his release from the rehabilitation center, but they acted as though they’d been together for years. I guessed some of their comfort with each other was the familiarity—they had played on the same tee ball and soccer teams as kids and had been in school together before Twiggy began skipping grades. From how Shiloh had described things, tt seemed to me that they had simply rediscovered a friendship that had moved naturally into something more.
The rest of us groaned at their display and seated ourselves at the table, and soon everyone was reaching casually past each other for this or that dish.
“Oh! Let’s have some tunes.” Shiloh jumped up to fiddle with the Bluetooth sitting on a nearby shelf and I relaxed into my chair, reaching for a steak. The smell was heaven itself.
Fleetwood Mac started singing about mountains and change and fear and as I ate, I let it and the hum of conversation wash over me, lull me. I sat beside Brodie—courtesy of Shiloh’s transparent maneuvering—and he leaned into me.
“Tell me about you.” There was a note of command in his voice that shocked me into glancing his way, fork suspended halfway to my mouth.
“Are you asking, or demanding?”
“I tend to be a bit of a demanding bastard,” he answered, his response completely devoid of apology.
I huffed out a half-laugh. “At least you’re honest.”
His look appraised me. “You’re beautiful when you smile.”
The smile died on my face and I turned my attention back to my plate. “Not interested.” It wasn’t the entire truth, but he didn’t need to know that. My hormones kicked into overdrive around him, which in another life would have made me very interested. My brain told me to run, though. Far, and fast.
“And honest, as well.”
“Yes, well, I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings.”
“I’m good with that. Anyway, I understand you and Shiloh have been friends for years?”
“We have. We giggled about boys in middle school and got drunk together in high school. I understand Gunner hired you to help protect her last month and you got yourself knocked out?” I felt shitty about the question as soon as it left my lips. I was trying to put some distance between us but that was uncalled for.
His mouth twisted and he reached the arm beside me up to scratch the back of his neck. “Ouch.”
For a while we were quiet, and an unfamiliar sense of shame hit me. He hadn’t gotten himself drugged on purpose. I wrestled with the knowledge that I should apologize. I never apologized, partially because I was always right and there was never a need.
I nudged his arm with my elbow. “Sorry.”
“No need.”
