“I’m almost sixteen.”
“Cool! I’m almost seventeen.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I got held back though, so I’m gonna be in high school until I die.”
I laugh again. She is… a lot.
I’m reading on the couch when the doorbell rings.
“I got it!” I shout, darting across the room. Hopefully it’s my new friend because my brother still hasn’t come out of his room since his fight with Gran yesterday, and I’m bored to death.
Ripping open the front door, I’m stopped dead in my tracks. It’s a boy—a really cute boy.
His blond hair is short, and his face is angular in a way that would make him seem like a man if it wasn’t for his bright blue eyes and pouty lips. He’s tall. Likereallytall. So tall, in fact, that he looks over my head into the house instead of at me.
“Shane here?” he asks.
I blink, my mouth popping open, unable to pry my eyes from his mouth.
His gaze drops to mine and he lifts a brow. “Speak much?”
God, what is with these people?
Snapping out of it, I say, “Huh?”
His lips press together. “You Shane’s kid sister?”
I scowl. “I’m not a kid.”
My height makes me look young, but I’m actually only two years younger than my dipshit brother. He just turned eighteen and thinks that makes him a man, but that’s because he’s like I said before… a dipshit.
“Sure.” He grins. “Is he here?”
Shane pushes past me onto the porch. “He’s here for me.” He nods to the cute boy and says, “Gabe.”
I wrinkle my nose. The idiot didn’t even bother putting on pants. He’s standing on the porch in a shirt and boxers. He looks better than he did yesterday, though.
But he sure as hell doesn’t smell better.Jesus, did he forget how to use deodorant? Or does he just think the cigarette smoke covers the B.O.?
“Let’s go,” Gabe says, his eyes dropping. “Uh… maybe put on some pants first.”
He glances down, then back to Gabe. “Oh, shit. Alright. I’ll be right back.”
He squeezes my shoulder as he passes. “I’ll be back later, and we can hang out.”
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “Whatever.”
Gabe lifts his brows before jogging off the porch. He climbs through the open window of an old blue sports car—yes, the window—instead of opening the door and climbing in like a normal person. I roll my eyes again.
Boys are so weird.
“Morning, Gran.” Stretching my arms, I pad across the kitchen, still in my pink pajamas.
Gran’s seated at the kitchen table, the paper in one hand, her Tweety Bird coffee mug in the other. Bob Dylan plays over her outdated CD player on the counter.
“Morning, sweetheart. What’s on the agenda for today?”
I shrug. “I might go down to the lake. Where’s Shane?”
She puts the paper down, shooting me a sad look. “Who knows? Probably out being a thorn in my damn side.”
