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He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. “Don’t know. Maybe because I’m such a rebel.” He grins.
“Are the stories about you true?” Hunter questions, his eyes darkening on me.
“What stories might those be? There are a few,” I retort, walking up to the waffle maker. Nate takes the bowl from me and begins pouring the batter into the maker.
“About your mom.” A little blunt, but I’m used to it.
“The part about her killing herself, or the part about her murdering my father’s side chick beforehand?” I throw back, my head tilting.
Hunter has what I’d call rough features. I’m not sure how to place his ethnicity. He has dark eyes, olive skin, and a scruffy but clean five o’clock shadow over his jaw.
He leans against his chair more, eyeing me closely. “Both.”
“Yes and yes,” I answer flatly. “And yes it was my gun.”
I turn around to catch Nate glaring at Hunter. “Move,” I order, pointing toward the waffle maker. Nate steps aside to let me in, and my arm brushes against his. I pause, my eyes going up to his face to catch him smirking down at me. Before I can tell him to wipe the smile off his face, Eli comes up beside me.
“I’m Eli, and I’m the eyes and ears of our group. I’m also the little brother to Ace.” He points over his shoulder to an older and bulkier version of himself.
I smile politely at Ace, not gaining a smile in return. Whatevs.
“You mean club?” I reply without looking at him. I pour more batter into the maker before noticing everyone is quiet.
“Tsk, tsk. I see rumors have already made it to you on your first day. Who told you?” Nate asks.
I step away from him, putting the waffle on my plate and deciding I want out of this kitchen because it’s a little too crowded with testosterone.
“Tatum.” I squirt maple syrup onto my waffle. “I’m going to go.” Then I snatch my plate and make my way toward the stairs. On my passing, I see Bishop and Brantley talking in the living room, still in their same seats.
I pause, gripping onto the stairwell, and turn my head toward them, only to find Bishop looking straight through me. I’m not sure what these boys’ deal is, but it’s a little intense. Bishop has an angular face with high cheekbones and a jaw that could be sculpted for a Greek god. He has loose dark hair that makes my fingers twitch to run them through it, and piercing, dark, army green eyes. His thick dark lashes fan out across his perfect skin. His shoulders are lean yet are set with confidence. The dominance that surrounds him is evident, and once I realize I’m still ogling, my eyes widen in horror before I spin around and dash back up the stairs.
Closing my bedroom door, I place my plate on my study desk that sits beside the balcony door and sigh. There’s no way I’ll be able to stomach eating anything now. Climbing under my crisp linen sheets, I turn on the television that hangs on the wall opposite my bed and push Play on the next episode of Banshee before sinking into my pillow, my body finally relaxing after one long-ass day.
I’M COMING DOWN THE STAIRS the next morning with an apple jammed in my mouth, and my books clutched in my arm when I walk straight into Nate’s back. I take the apple out of my mouth. “Shit, sorry, I’m so late.”
“I know. How many episodes of Banshee did you watch last night?” he asks, collecting his keys off the kitchen table.
“I don’t know. I lost cou— Wait!” I throw my hand up. “How’d you know I was watching Banshee?” I hop up and down, trying to shove my foot into my Converse.
“I came in to see if you were okay when I saw light was shining under your door. You were crashed out by then. By the way, nice pick of TV show. Is Harry taking you to school?” He takes hold of my arm so I can lean on him to balance my footing before finally getting my foot into the damn shoe.
I hand him my books to hold and bend down to tie up my laces. “Yeah, he does every morning.”
I stand back up as he passes me my books and we make our way out the front door. “I’ll drive you. Doesn’t make sense not to. We go to the same school.”
I look down the driveway to see Harry not here. Crap. Chewing on my lip nervously, I nod. “Okay.”
He gives me a cheesy grin, his dimples popping out as he takes my hand and we walk toward his Porsche 918 Spyder. He beeps her, and I slip into the passenger seat, clicking my seatbelt on.
