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“Why not?”
“Why, though?”
“Because it’s nice to be nice, Joey.”
“You are a really weird fucking girl,” he grumbled, looking thrown off kilter, before begrudgingly adding, “With nice legs.”
I grinned back at him. “Thankyou.”
He eyed me mistrustingly. “You’re welcome.”
“What about the rest of your family?”
“What about them?”
“Who are you closest to?”
“Myself.”
“Oh come on.” I rolled my eyes. “You can’t say yourself.”
“Why not? It’s true.”
“Well, do you have a secret rich aunt, or some cool cousin you love hanging out with at family functions?”
“No.”
“Come on, Joe.” I smiled. “Humor me. There has to be someone.”
He stared at me for a long time before releasing a breath. “I have a great-grandfather.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded warily.
“What’s his name?”
“Anthony.”
“Same as my dad.” I beamed. “Is he your mother’s father or your–“
“My mother’s.”
“And is he nice?”
Another slow nod. “I, ah, don’t see him much anymore, but I spent a lot of time with him growing up.”
“Why don’t you see him much anymore?”
“Shit happened in the family.” He shrugged. “And I got busy with work and school and hurling.”
This was the longest I had managed to get Joey Lynch to stay and talk to me since we met at the start of the school year, and I was willing to do just about anything to keep him in my kitchen – and keep him talking.
To say that I felt drawn to him would be a major understatement.
I felt it that very first day of first year – that epic wave of familiarity, lust, and comradery – when our eyes locked, and I felt it now.
There was something about this boy that I found impossible to ignore, and I knew he felt it, too.
