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He nods without hesitation. “Blaise is a nice guy, Hadley.” He breaks a chunk of the granola bar off and pops it into his mouth. “And I think if you’d look past his bad flirting skills and stupid need to protect his brothers all the time, you’d realize that.” He offers me a smile then heads toward the stairway. “Cut Blaise some slack, okay? I promise you won’t regret it.”
“And what if I do and regret it?” I challenge. “Then what?”
He spins back around, tilting his head to the side musingly. “I’ll tell you what. If you cut Blaise some slack and get to know him and end up regretting it, then you can kick me in the balls. You like doing that sort of stuff, right?”
“Maybe.” I chew on my bottom lip. “You know, gambling the wellbeing of your man goodies on whether or not me and your brother are going to get along seems like a big risk on your part.”
“I don’t think it’s that big of a gamble.”
“Are you sure about that? Because every time Blaise and I around each other, we argue.”
He grins. “Yeah, that’s not arguing, sweetheart.”
“Hey, watch it with that name,” I warn, pointing at him.
He surrenders his hands in front of him with an innocent smile. “Sorry, my bad. I completely forgot you hated it.”
“Sure, you did.” I scowl at him, but the corners of my lips twitch. “But seriously, Blaise and I argue, and if you had functioning eyes and ears, you’d know that.”
“You can call it arguing if it makes you feel better. But everyone who has functioning eyes and ears knows your little,” he makes air quotes, “ ‘arguments’ are your guys fucked up way of flirting.”
I glare at him. “That is so not true…” I trail off as he dazzles me with a smirk then bolts up the stairs. “Deal on, dude!” I shout after him. “So prepare your balls for some pain!”
Rhyland’s arrogant laughter is my only answer. Well, that and Alex saying, “What fucking kind of kinky shit are you guys doing?”
I consider chasing after Rhyland, but I’m not sure what I’d do when I caught him. Maybe put him in a headlock and make him retract his statement about Blaise and me flirting with each other.
Yeah, a headlock definitely seems like a deserving punishment.
“So, I have some good news and bad news,” Blaise announces as he wanders back into the kitchen.
I turn away from the stairs, making a mental note to somehow pay Rhyland back for his accusation. “What’s the bad news?”
He shoves his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “Are you sure you don’t want to hear the good news first?”
“I always like to get the bad stuff out of the way. That way, I can focus on the good stuff.”
“Yeah, me too. Most people like it the other way around, though.”
“I know. Londyn, Bailey, and Payton are all totally that way.”
“Rhyland and Jaxon are too.” He slides his hands into his pocket. “Alex isn’t, though.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” I say. Then remembering the wager I made with Rhyland, I decide to be nice and add, “I don’t mean that like in a rude way or anything. He just seems like a let’s cut straight to the bullshit sort of dude.”
“You’re trying not to be rude to a Porterson, huh?” Blaise rubs his jawline. “What brought that on?”
“Why I’m so glad you asked.” Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I lean against the counter. “While you were on the phone, Rhyland and I made a little wager.”
Wariness floods his expression. “Really?”
“Yep, we sure did.”
He grows silent, his wariness doubling.
“Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?”
“I’m a little afraid to,” he admits reluctantly.
“Don’t worry, it’s not that bad. Well, it will be for Rhyland if he loses, but not for you or me.”
“Okay.” He sinks into silence again.
“Oh, come on.” I stomp my foot. “Ask me what it is, or it’ll ruin my fun, dude.”
He smashes his lips together, his face red with silent laughter. “All right, stubborn girl, what deal did you make with my brother?”
And there he goes with that stubborn girl bullshit again, but I decide to let it slide this time.
Grinning, I hoist myself onto the counter and let my legs dangle over the edge. “Well, he suggested that if I cut you some slack and got to know you a bit better that I won’t regret.” I press my hand to my chest. “I, however, am a bit skeptical. No offense or anything, but we sort of clash.”
“Do we?” He gives me that really intense look that always makes me feel way out of my comfort zone, the one that makes me feel as if he knows all of my secrets.
But refusing to let that look ruin my fun, I keep on grinning. “Yeah, we really do.”
“Okay,?
?? he agrees, but the way he says feels like he’s only tolerating me. “So what happens if Rhyland is right and we do end up getting along?”
I shrug. “Then I get the awesome reward of not having to hand you your ass every time we’re around each other.”
“You say that like you don’t actually like handing me my ass.”
Shit, he has me there.
“Okay, maybe I do, but at least we can get along while I hand you your ass.”
A grin takes over his face, and I hate that I notice how stupidly pretty it is. “You know, you seem really obsessed with my ass.”
“Not your actual ass,” I clarify. “Just your assy attitude.”
“Is assy even a word?”
I give him a toothy smile. “It is in Hadley’s Awesome Dictionary of Made up Fan-freakin’-tastical Words, which is the only dictionary to live by. If you’re smart anyway.”
He presses his lips together so forcefully the skin around his mouth turns white.
“What? No comeback for that?” I tease. “That must mean that you completely agree with me and that you’ll be wanting a copy of my dictionary so you memorize and worship it.”
He lowers his head as his shoulders start to shake. I think he might be laughing at me, but trying to hide it.
“So odd,” he mutters before lifting his head. His eyes are a bit watery, his face flushed with laughter.
“You were laughing at me,” I accuse. “That’s not cool, man.”
“I was a little bit,” he admits. “But only because you’re so damn amusing.”
“So I’m damn amusing and odd. Gee, thanks.”
“Those are both good things.” He reaches out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear.
It’s the second time he’s touched my hair this morning. I don’t know why he’s so fascinated with it, especially when I haven’t washed it in a couple of days. Maybe that’s why. Perhaps he has a fetish for dirty hair. Whatever. To each their own, I guess. Where the real problem lies is how my heart reacts every time his fingers brush across my dirty strands of hair. The idiot must be broken or something, getting all fluttery over pretty boy’s fingers tugging and playing with my greasy hair. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. And I shouldn’t be getting fluttery at all right now.
