“You just show up one day, claiming to be a relative?”
“Iama relative, and I didn’t just show up. I was forced into coming here.”
“Yeah, right,” he says, glaring at me. “You jumped at the chance to live with your rich famous uncle, if that’s really what he is.”
I glare back at him. “What the hell are you implying?”
“Look around.” He nods toward the house, then the ocean. “Everyone wants this life. They’ll do anything to get it.”
“My momdied,” I say. “I’d do anything to have her back and be living in New York. But life decided to fuck me over and take away my mom and send me out here to live with my asshole cousins in some stupid town I’ve never even heard of.”
He looks down, then back up. “Sorry about your mom.”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. I storm toward the door. “I’m outta here.”
“Rumor, wait!” He grabs my arm.
“Stop touching me!” I yank on my arm, but he doesn’t let go.
“Tell me why you’re here.”
“Youknowwhy I’m here! I just told you! Now let go of me!”
“You’re telling me there wasn’t one person in New York you could’ve lived with?”
“I’m a minor. Unless someone wanted to adopt me or be my legal guardian, I couldn’t stay with them. It was either this or foster care, and right now, foster care’s looking like the better option.” I pull on my arm. “Let me go, Trystan, or I’ll kick you in the fuckin’ balls!”
He cocks his head. “How’d you know I was Trystan?”
“I’m a good guesser,” I say, struggling to get free.
He’s really strong. He’s not even working hard to keep hold of me.
“No, really. How’d you know?”
I give up struggling and stand there. “Your dad said Braden plays football. You don’t look like a football player. You’re too skinny.”
“What the fuck?” He glances down at himself. “I’m not skinny.”
“You are for a football player.” I force down the smile that’s itching to appear, knowing I got to him. I wasn’t even trying to insult him. He’s really sensitive about his appearance if he took it that way.
“I play soccer,” he says. “And I’m bigger than any other guy on the team.”
“Whatever you say,” I smile slightly, looking him up and down.
“You’re kind of a bitch,” he says, letting go of my arm.
“Thanks!” I smile. “And you’re kind of an ass. Actually, scratch the kinda. Youarean ass.”
“You thinkI’mbad? Wait till you meet Braden.”
“Where is he?”
“Football practice.”
“Already? School hasn’t even started.”
“They start practicing in August. You don’t know anything about sports, do you?”
