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My lip twitches in annoyance. “Why? Because I rejected you the first time we met? If so, that’s really fucked up.”
He gives a nonchalant shrug, his posture a bit stiff. “It wasn’t just because of the rejection.”
“Then, what else was it about?” I pry, curious if it has to do with why Alex loathes my family. If it has anything to do with my dad working for their dad.
All he does is offer me another shrug and, “You just bring that side out of me, I guess.”
“So, you’re putting the blame on me?”
“No. What I’m saying is that you do seem to get off on pissing me off, too.”
My mouth opens with a comeback, but then I zip my lips shut, realizing he’s right. “Okay, maybe I do … a bit.”
“Hmmm …” He rubs his jawline. “I wonder why that is.” His tone carries insinuation. Why, who the hell knows?
I give a nonchalant shrug. “Probably because you’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”
“And you’re the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met,” he quips. Then he steps aside and motions for me to come in. “So, stubborn girl, quit stalling and come inside so you can complete your first favor.”
I step over the threshold, arching my brow at him as I pass. “Please don’t say you’re going to start calling me stubborn girl now.”
He bumps the door shut. “You wanted me to stop calling you sweetheart, didn’t you?”
I waver my head from side to side. “Yeah, I guess so.”
He smiles as he lightly tugs on a stand of my hair. “So, stubborn girl it is.” Then he takes off toward a hallway. “I’ll be right back. I just have to grab my stuff.”
Before I can ask what he’s grabbing, he disappears down the hallway.
I’m left standing alone in his living room, which is surprisingly clean. The furniture is decent, too, way better than anything my family owns. The Portersons also have a flat screen television, an item my family hasn’t owned in a while, ever since my dad took ours and pawned it. He tried to lie about it when I confronted him, but I found the receipt in his pocket while I was doing the laundry. He never would admit what he did with the extra cash, which I guess is kind of his MO. Well, that and getting drunk.
Talk about a great father figure.
Sighing audibly, I trudge over to the sofa to sit down when Rhyland comes wandering into the room, carrying a bowl of cereal. His hair is damp, as if he just got out of the shower, and he’s wearing black jeans and a blue T-shirt, looking as annoyingly gorgeous as ever.
He pauses mid-bite when his gaze lands on me. “Hey.” He lowers the spoon from his mouth and wipes a dribble off milk off his chin with the back of his hand. “You’re here early.”
“Because I was ordered to be.” My tone comes out light instead of bitter, like I was aiming for.
Man, I really must be tired.
He smiles, relaxing as he plops down on the leather sofa close enough that his leg is touching mine. “Glad to see you’re being chill about the bet.” He stuffs another bite of cereal into his mouth then pats the cushion, indicating for me to sit down. “Alex thought you’d bail out of this whole favors thing.”
Rolling my eyes, I take a seat. “Of course he did.”
“I didn’t, though,” he clarifies with a slightly flirty smile, reminding me of what I overheard last night.
That both Blaise and Rhyland might have a thing for me. If that’s true, though, they have a weird way of showing it.
I twist to face him, bringing my knee up onto the cushion between us. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”
He raises a shoulder. “You don’t seem like the type to back down. Yesterday proves that.”
“True.” I can’t tell if he’s insulting me or not.
“That’s a good thing,” he assures me, as if reading my mind. “At least, I think so.” He rotates, facing me. “I have to say, after watching you race, I definitely think you should start racing on weekends.”
“Why?” I question. “I didn’t even win against your brother.”
