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Charlotte slowly nods as if letting that sink in. “What if you’re wrong? What if he’s changed and actually likes you?”
“Char, women have been sold that lie for centuries, and I refuse to be one of them. Besides, it would be delusional. The other night when we walked in on him with that girl is proof that he’s the same old dog up to the same old tricks. Boys like him don’t change.”
Charlotte sighs and sinks back into the building. “Too damn bad you have no interest in a fling, because that boy is—”
Before the words are even out of her mouth, a short kid with a crop of black hair rounds the corner, pointing his squirt gun to her head as he screams, “You guys! They’re over here!”
My spirits soar as I head off campus toward the apartments, taking a detour to the coffee shop where I grab an iced latte and mull over my situation with Jace. Both my talk with Charlotte and my time away from the apartment have helped to clear my head. Jace and I have had a diabolical relationship for years, but there’s been a shift in the dynamic between us for the second time since I’ve known him. Only, unlike the first, I can’t pinpoint the cause. Maybe it’s the absence of Teagan as a buffer. Maybe I said or did something to piss Jace off beyond moving in with him, and now he’s retaliating.
I think back to a time before we were at odds, when things were amicable between us. When my family moved to Riverside in grade school, Teagan and Jace became fast friends. By the time sixth grade rolled around, Jace was a permanent fixture in the Nichols’ household, but I didn’t mind so much. My sisters, Trista and Sabel, were only babies, and as my father soeloquently put it, he and Teagan were outnumbered, so it was nice to have another guy around.
Even back then Jace was a charmer, quickly winning my mother’s affections and a space at our table. I remember being transfixed by his aqua eyes and broad smile, and even though he was Teagan’s best friend, he always made it a point to include me. We’d ride bikes, watch movies, and play video games, spending countless hours goofing off and just being kids.
But the summer before eighth grade, an awareness started creeping in. I’d always known Jace was good-looking, but his attraction became obvious in a way it hadn’t previously. While I still felt awkward and a little shy around boys, he was the opposite. Outside of Jace and my brother, I barely talked to the guys in our class. Meanwhile, Jace was a shameless flirt. I remember overhearing him tell Teagan about necking with a girl behind the bleachers at school and blushing because my friends and I had yet to even kiss a boy.
One week that summer, we had a heatwave with record highs. The kind of heat that steals your breath and makes your clothes stick to your skin the second you step outside. Mom got tired of us lounging around in the air conditioning, so one morning after Jace slept over, she kicked us out of the house and handed us squirt guns.
By noon, Teagan had called it quits. Out of breath and soaked, he retreated to the house for pizza and video games. But I refused to admit defeat and Jace wasn’t ready to give up, either. The rest of the day was spent one-upping each other. After Jace popped out of the bathroom shower and nailed me square in the face with an icy stream, I dumped an entire bucket on him while he flirted with our neighbors in the yard. He put ice under my sheets just before bed, so I shoved ice in the toes of his sneakers. We went on like that for two days until the heatwave broke andJace’s parents returned from their trip to Santa Monica, and my mother made us stop.
I pause on the sidewalk, wondering if that’s our problem.
Jace and I have been engaged in a proverbial water fight for years.
It doesn’t matter who started it because we both want to win, and neither of us will stop until we do, even if it destroys us. The only difference is somewhere along the line we traded our squirt guns in for sharp words and insults. Even more threatening as of late is the sexual warfare Jace seemed to declare. It’s dangerous territory, one I’d very much like to flee from because it can’t go anywhere good. The mixture of hatred and sexual tension is giving me whiplash.
We need to call a truce, but my mom’s not here to stop us like she stopped the water war all those years ago. And though the last thing I want to do is wave the white flag of surrender to the enemy, if I don't, he never will. That much is clear, and someone needs to be the bigger person here.
So, why can’t it be me?
CHAPTER 19
BRYNN
Ipush the doorto Jace’s apartment open to find him staring out the windows. The television blares in the background, so he doesn’t hear my entrance, which is further evidenced by the way his reflection in the window stares unseeingly to the street below. I wonder what he’s thinking about when he notices my reflection, and his blue eyes meet mine in the glass.
He stands like that for whole seconds, taking in my watery image as if I’m a mirage and not actually standing several feet behind him while I give myself a pep talk.
I made the decision on the way here to form a truce, and it’s time to implement it, but now that I’m here, face-to-face with him, a pocket of nerves bursts in my chest like an abscess filling me with doubt.
I hurry into the little kitchen where I refill my stainless water bottle at the sink and take a long drink. By the time I’m done, Iturn to find he’s facing me. “Hey,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual as I ponder how awkward this feels.
“Hey back.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, staring in a way that tells me he’s trying to gauge my mood.
My stomach clenches as he closes the distance between us and joins me in the kitchen. A wave of his masculine scent washes over me, and I suddenly regret coming in here. The kitchen is too small, too confined. Not to mention, one of the only two other times we’ve ever been in this space, his tongue collided with my leg.
As if he can read my thoughts, his gaze slides to my legs in my cutoff shorts.
I clear my throat, and he jerks his head away, meeting my eyes guiltily. “Hungry?” I ask, wondering if I’m going to regret this. “I thought maybe if you haven’t eaten, we could try that Greek place a block down.”
“You want to have dinner with me?” He points at his chest, but doesn’t even wait for me to respond before he says, “I figured you wouldn’t come home until I was either out with the guys or in bed.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Come on.” He arches a brow. “Didn’t we establish this morning that you’ve been avoiding me?”
“Okay, maybe I have a little,” I mumble, staring down at my hands. “But can you blame me?”
His grin is answer enough.
