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“Hell no. ”
Awesome. What girl doesn’t want to hear that?
“You said she’s pretty,” Ethan spits out as if that comment is an insult.
“She is,” says Brian. “But I’m not into her. ”
Ethan’s shoulders sag with relief. “Good. ”
Great. I think I’m going to drive a fork into my brother’s abdomen.
“Look. ” Brian turns to face me. “You’re nice, but you’re Rachel, you know?”
Yes, I’m well aware of who I am: the obsessively shy and anxious girl who stumbles over her own name. The one with the ridiculously protective brothers. “It’s all right. ”
It’s not. But what am I going to do? The only guy who has ever shown the least bit of interest in me never called, so why should anything else in my life be different?
“Apologize to my sister,” says Ethan.
Brian’s forehead furrows. “For what?”
“For existing. ”
Brian laughs and bumps Ethan’s fist again. “Sorry I exist, Rachel. And Ethan, I’ll catch you at Sarah’s party later. ”
Later? With the self-proclaimed pot smoker? I tilt my head while Ethan briefly closes his eyes. I straighten my back, tap the seat next to me, then fold my hands daintily over my knees. “Sooo? How are you doing?”
Ethan collapses in the seat and rests his beer on the table. “It’s nothing. Let it go. ”
I bat my eyelashes and smile like a stupid Southern belle because he must think I’m a moron if he believes I’m buying that. “It didn’t sound like nothing. ”
“Brian experimented with pot. It’s no big deal. ”
“Does that mean you experimented with pot?”
He stretches out his legs and remains silent. I drop the Southern belle act and lean into him. “If that conversation took place between West and any of his friends, I’d let it go. West does stupid things. It’s what West was born to do. But you—you don’t do stupid things. ”
Ethan turns his head toward me, and all I see is dark eyes and dark hair—a reminder that he’s my opposite. “I was with him, but I didn’t do it, okay?” He holds out his pinkie. “I swear. ”
I press his pinkie down and pat his knee. The offer of a pinkie has always been enough for the two of us. If he swears it, I believe it.
Ethan regards my cell on the table. “Are you expecting a call?”
The disbelief in his voice stings. “No. ” Unfortunately. “I’m not. ”
Yet it doesn’t stop me from looking at the wretched device. Because staring at it for ten hours straight will magically remind Isaiah that I gave him my number.
“I’ve been thinking,” says Ethan.
“Which is never a good thing,” I cut him off. “It will only strain the brain cells that actually function and those two deserve a break. ”
He smirks. “You know, if you’d crawl out of your shell and be yourself around everyone else, then that phone would be ringing nonstop, you might attend an occasional nonadult party and you wouldn’t have to rely on Brian for a pity dance. ”
Once more, I focus on my lap and again smooth out my dress. I was myself with Isaiah, and look where that got me. “This is me. ”
“You hate attention. . . I get it. But I hate how everyone sees you. If it bothers me then I know it’s got to bother you. ”
The back of my neck bristles and my spine straightens. Ethan’s never been so blunt and I don’t care for it. “Sorry I can’t be perfect like you. ” Lead scorer on the lacrosse team, voted onto the student council, popular. . . not me. Just like the rest of my fabulous brothers.
