You could count on familiar faces and the usual suspects. Hell, I wasn’t one to talk. I still showed up at least once a month.
After all, I’d never bothered to leave Kirby Falls either.
I slipped through the crowd easily, greeting friends and acquaintances, slapping backs, and giving hugs. Then I dropped off my six-pack of Firefly cider in one of the coolers beneath the covered awning on the other side of the barn, snagging one of the bottles for myself.
My cousin, Laramie, was busy hanging out with her best friend, so I was on my own until I found someone I wanted to join around the fire. Or there was always the off-chance that my sister Bonnie would show. She was two years older than me, but everyone knew her and loved her.
I spied an open camp chair on the opposite side of the massive blaze and changed direction to try to nab it before anyone else.
Most of our graduating class got along pretty well. There’d been Lara Dillon, head cheerleader and colossal bitch, but she’d gotten married in college and moved away and never came back. And Floyd Ellerby had turned out to be kind of a dick. Although he still lived in Kirby Falls, he rarely came around. The last time I’d seen Floyd at a bonfire had been a few years back, and he and Brady Judd had gotten into it about something. I’d never seen Brady so worked up. The guy was annoyingly friendly and unflappable—unless I was the one doing the flapping.
A devious smile had the corners of my lips twisting upward as I rounded the corner. Yes, irritating Brady was one of my talents. Like Beethoven and his symphonies. Leonardo da Vinci and his art. Some people played an instrument or could sing real good. There’d been a girl in our graduating class who’d become a famous dancer and performed all over the world. And much like Mandy Jessup, I’d found my calling. Unfortunately, it wasn’t anything as lucrative or notable as being a principal ballerina. I was Brady Judd’s nemesis and no one could get his goat like I could.
The vacant camp chair I’d been eying came into view and my black and white Converse halted as I pulled up short. A body attached to a pair of long jean-clad legs slid onto the dark green nylon just ahead of me.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Unfortunately, the nemesis thing seemed to work both ways. As much as it pained me to admit, Brady was just as talented at getting under my skin. He was a tick on my backside and had been for as long as I'd known him. We’d been gleefully torturing each other for decades at this point. It probably (definitely) wasn’t healthy, but grudges were seldom rational. And while most of our childhood and adolescent battles had been good-natured teasing interspersed with occasional hell-raising, the spring after I’d turned eighteen, I’d sworn I’d never forgive him.
Maybe it was juvenile to keep a promise I’d made to myself ten years ago, but no one had ever accused me of being the most mature.
Brady glanced up then, the smirk already fully formed on his surprisingly full lips. The orange glow from the fire cast his features in harsh relief, making him look demonic, possibly rabid. His smirk widened into a grin as he watched me stand there, frozen, two feet away. The asshat had probably stolen the chair on purpose.
“Hi, Mac Attack. I didn’t see you there.” His voice was delighted, the good-ole-boy-Southern-accent dialed up to ten.
Sure, I lived in the mountains of Western North Carolina too, but Brady exaggerated his twangy drawl and sounded more like an inbred yokel than anyone else. One time, in second grade, he missed “wash” during the spelling bee. He’d spelled out “w-o-r-s-h” because that was literally how he said it. There wascountryand then there was Brady Judd: shameless flirt, unrepentant annoyance, and backwoods-sounding hillbilly.
“Ibetyou didn’t,” I challenged.
Brady’s grin went full-blown megawatt. His even white teeth appeared to glow in the firelight like some sort of deranged maniac.
I eyed his smooth jaw and styled hair. The brown strands were longer on top and artfully arranged. I imagined if I ran my fingers through it and gave it a good yank that my hand would come away sticky with product. Beneath the scent of crackling flames and wood smoke, I got a good whiff of cologne—probably Axe Body Spray.
“What?” Brady asked when I’d clearly been staring too long.
I sniffed and crossed my arms. “Nothing. I just don’t see why you feel the need to get all gussied up?—”
“Thank you,” he interrupted like I’d complimented him.
“—It’s just a bonfire at Abby’s. Same one you probably came to last Friday and the Friday before that.”
“If this lowly bonfire is so beneath you,” he replied, unoffended, “why do you keep showing up? You must not mind hanging out with all us peasants when you have such an engaging social calendar, Your Majesty.”
I scowled in response, not bothering to explain myself to him.
I just meantIdidn’t feel the need to curl my hair and put on a bunch of makeup to impress the same people I saw all the time. Most of them knew me back when I had a mouth full of braces or that obsession with Legally Blonde in the fifth grade.
My gaze shifted to the chair he occupied, and I sighed. No fireside seat was worth this.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this here chair?” He wiggled his butt a little like I didn’t know what folding camp chair he was referring to. Then he spread his thighs wide to get comfortable, and I swallowed and looked away.
My eye roll was instinctual at this point—a conditioned response to this idiot. I might as well have been Pavlov’s dog . . . but with better hair.
“There’s a seat right here,” Brady said, patting his thigh.
I made sure my glare was baleful and unflinching. “Not a chance.”
As if I would ever lower myself—literally—to sit on his lap. I couldn’t imagine a scenario where that would ever happen. Two broken ankles? Nah, I’ll pass. Just finished a marathon? I’d rather stand, thank you very much.
