Page 18 of Rush

I part my lips to speak, but nothing comes out. I’m like a goldfish, just opening and closing my mouth, no sound coming.

“Hey,” I hear a sweet female voice say.

It yanks my eyes from his to her, and standing beside him is a tall, beautiful woman. Long, dark hair. Sunglasses covering her eyes. Looks to be about my age.

I must look like a toddler, standing here with these two gorgeous skyscrapers.

She’s wearing cutoff jean shorts, showing off her long, tan legs—I’m not jealous at all—and a T-shirt that says, I’m Not Smart for A Girl. I’m Just Smart.

I like her immediately. Any woman who wears a shirt saying that has my admiration.

She’s looking between us.

She must be wondering who the hell I am and why he’s looking at me like he would like to strangle me with his bare hands.

“A, are you going to introduce me?” she says with curiosity in her voice.

She called him A. She’s clearly familiar with him.

I wonder if she’s his girlfriend.

My stomach fills with battery acid.

I choose not to think about why.

But, if she is his girlfriend, then she deserves a medal for putting up with him. Although I imagine he’s nice to her.

She pushes her sunglasses up to the top of her head, revealing her eyes. Bright blue. Exactly like his.

Maybe she’s not his girlfriend after all. Maybe they’re related.

Ares lets out an aggravated-sounding sigh and folds his arms over his mammoth chest. The fabric of his shirt stretches over his huge biceps. “She’s Coach Petrelli’s daughter.”

Coach Petrelli’s daughter.

Wow, don’t go overboard there with the introduction, Mr. Perfect.

Seems I don’t even deem worthy enough to have a name. Actually, come to think of it, I can’t remember him ever calling me by my name. He’s called me Jailbird, but that’s it.

I get that he has a strong aversion to alcoholics, but his hatred for me is something else altogether.

“Well, hey there, Coach Petrelli’s daughter,” she says in a teasing voice, which is aimed at Ares and his lame introduction. “I’m Missy. This grumpy ass’s sister.” She thumbs in his direction.

Ares frowns in her direction.

And I smile. My smile has nothing to do with the fact that she’s his sister and everything to do with her calling him a grumpy ass and the fact that her expression hasn’t dropped at the introduction of who I am. I can’t imagine he’s talked about me to her. Either that, or she’s not a hater of ex-alcoholics.

And my stomach most definitely has not emptied of the battery acid it is filled with.

“I’m Arianna,” I tell her.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Arianna,” she says, sounding like she actually means it. “Guess I don’t need to ask how you know my brother. Coach Petrelli being your dad and all.”

“We actually only met recently,” I tell her, avoiding his hard stare. And he hates my guts. “I just started working for my dad.”

“Cool. And how’s that going?”

Um…