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He starts to smile, but then his lips tug downward. “I know I’ve been pushing you guys into admitting you like each other, but if you really do just see him as a friend, I think you should take a step back from whatever this thing is going on between you two.” His gaze strays to his brother. “Before someone gets hurt.”
“Why can’t Blaise and I just be friends and spend a lot of time together?” I question. “Not every guy/girl relationship has to lead to a boyfriend/girlfriend thing.”
“I know that.” He looks at me again. “But Blaise likes you. I can tell, even if he won’t admit it. And yeah, I know I’m kind of ratting out my brother right now, but he’s been through a lot, and I think it could end up really messing him up if you don’t reciprocate his feelings.” He sighs, yanking his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know I probably sound like an asshole, but I’m trying to look out for my brother because, no matter what he says, he’s not as tough as he pretends to be.”
“I get that,” I tell him. “I act tough in front of my sisters, and I think Blaise is kind of that way with you guys.”
“He is. And most of the time, he gets so caught up in us that he forgets to take care of himself, kind of like how I’m guessing you do.”
I dismiss his statement with a flick of my wrist. “Nah, I take care of myself just fine.”
His eyes wander to the bruise on my face then his brow curves upward. “Was that the first time your dad hit you?”
I smash my lips together, wanting to lie, wanting to be tough, but the words won’t leave my lips.
“I figured so.”
“And why’s that?” I sound more defensive than I mean to, but I feel really exposed at the moment.
The Portersons know too much about me.
He rolls his tongue in his mouth, studying me for a moment. Then he tugs the sleeve of his shirt up. Just along his bicep are mounds of elevated scars.
“What happened?” I whisper, though deep down, I have a good idea of the answer.
“My father’s an asshole and a pyro, among a million other things.” He yanks down the sleeve, covering up the scars. “The really shitty part is those aren’t the first scars he put on me. Blaise has it worse, though, because he always tries to take the fall when one of us fucks up. Kind of like what he’s doing with you.”
“I never asked him to do that,” I reply, feeling awful. “He offered, and I just didn’t have anyone else to turn to, and I …”
He hurriedly slides forward and places a hand over mine. “Hey, I didn’t mean that he shouldn’t help you. I just …” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Just don’t break his heart, okay?”
Every one of my instincts scream for me to say that Blaise and I don’t like each other enough for me to have the power to break his heart. Instead, I find myself nodding. “Okay. I won’t.”
He relaxes a drop. “Thanks.” He examines me for a second. “You know, I think you’re not quite as snarky as I first thought.”
I snort a laugh. “Oh no, I’m totally snarky. And I like being that way.”
“Yeah, but you’re also kind of sweet underneath all the sarcasm and toughness.”
I glare at him. “You did not just call me sweet.”
He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, chuckling. “And cute.”
“Rhyland,” I warn. “Stop insulting me or your balls are gonna pay.”
He busts up laughing. “Only you’d see me calling you cute and sweet as an insult.”
“It is an insult,” I insist, trying to remain pissed off because,hello, he just called me cute and sweet, but … I don’t know, something about Rhyland’s laughter is a bit contagious.
“Look at you, trying to be pissed off,” he jokes through his laughter. “Now that’s fucking cute.”
“Dude, I warned you.” I start to lean over the seat, pretending like I’m going to hit him in the balls. Really, I’m not. I just want to scare him.
Apparently, Rhyland doesn’t think I’m that scary, though, and he only laughs harder.
I could smack him, maybe punch him in the dick, but he’s not really doing anything that justifies a dick punch, no matter how much I want to do it.
“You’re lucky,” I say, lowering my hand onto my lap.
