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“Yep,” I bite out, irritation chasing away my hurt. We fought like brothers growing up. A few times, we fought dirty and I have scars to this day. Cope’s nose has a dent I put in it. But for all our fighting, we were closer than any two boys could be.
Until we weren’t.
He places a palm on my history book and leans in to read what I’m writing. His closeness knocks me off my axis. I crave to lean into him—to remember what it feels like to touch him. Instead, I stay completely still. As though he’s a snake ready to strike if I make one wrong move.
He makes an exaggerated show of sniffing the air making me worry I stink. “I smell another F,” he says cruelly. “Looks like you’ll have to figure out other ways to convince Coach to let you play.”
The crude gesture he makes with his mouth and hand turns my gut.
“Screw you,” I snarl, my anger finally rising to the surface, as I fist my hands.
He smirks as he backs away. “Nah, I’ve got a girlfriend. Nice try, though. If you tried half as hard on that paper as you do attempting to get into my pants, you’d probably ace it.”
I have no words for him as he strides away, laughing like the evil bastard he is.
Copeland
Irritation churns inside me as I watch Ivy flirt with my buddy Jett. Not because I’m jealous, but because she knows I hate to be kept waiting. I want to get home. I’m tired as hell and I need to sleep if I plan on going to that party at all later. I rev my engine, earning the stares of everyone except Ivy. It’s hard to ignore my badass Chevy Camaro ZL1. It’s hard to ignore me.
Ivy holds up a finger to me to tell me it’ll be a minute while she continues chattering on to Jett. I roll my eyes and scan the crowd of people. Always searching. I skim over the boring group of people I’ve known since kindergarten, eventually landing where they always do.
On him.
Penn McAlister.
My next-door neighbor from hell.
An angry flush burns across my flesh. I roll down the window to let the cool fall air chase away the heat. Every time I think about why Penn and I fell out, I get pissed all over again.
He kissed me.
The dick tried to turn years of friendship into some gay make-out session I wanted no part of. I still, to this day, remember how we’d been laughing one minute, wrestling the next, and then his lips were on mine. I’d been wasted and it took a second of his tongue down my throat for me to realize it wasn’t a joke. Penn was kissing me like he had that right.
He immediately learned he didn’t have that right.
I’d shoved him away and punched him so hard I thought I broke my hand. As I stumbled out of the pool, he sobbed—begged for me to forgive him. That it was a mistake. It was a mistake all right. A mistake that ripped us in two. I was glad he didn’t see my tears. Tears of betrayal that my best friend turned on me. He knew I wasn’t gay and yet he kissed me anyway.
Pushing those thoughts out of my head, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel and turn up the radio. Several kids walk by and give me head nods, but I simply glower at them. I’m not their friend. I’m no one’s friend.
The door to the gym opens and a group of football players strut out. I grit my teeth as I watch them. They’re all wearing jerseys since tonight is a game night. One of the guys, Brett Stiller, punches Penn’s arm playfully. Penn laughs at whatever’s being said and I laugh too. Cold, harsh, bitter. Those dumbasses don’t even know him. He laughs at what they say, but he’s not happy. It makes me wonder if he’s still pissed about earlier. I smirk, knowing I’d gotten a rise out of him.
His smile falls when he sees me staring his way. He drops his head to look down at his feet, his shoulders tensing. Penn’s different. Not the guy I remember. Back in the day, before he turned into a creep, he was hilarious and fiercely loyal. We drove our dads crazy. Closer than best friends—we were like brothers. Now we’re nothing.
The car door opens and I drag my attention to Ivy. As she buckles in, she digs around in her purse. When she pulls out a cigarette, I snatch it from her and toss it out the window.
“Not in my car.” I peel out and she curses at me.
“At least roll up the window,” she whines. “It’s cold.”
She fiddles with the radio and I grit my teeth. Her music choices suck. When she settles on some girly singer who’s better suited for the Disney channel rather than the inside of my car, I let out a groan. My mind is still in the past as I wonder what even went through Penn’s mind to think I’d remotely be okay with him kissing me. Sometimes, I wonder if it was just a drunk moment. But deep down, I know. The way he still looks at me. The way he perks up when certain guys talk to him. He’s gay, whether he’s come out of the proverbial closet or not.
