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Again, I’m not going to let it affect me. “Agreed. You’ve always been a superstar.”
“And you’ve always talked too much.”
Asshole.
“Again,” I say chirpily, “agreed. I do have a talking habit.”
Finally, I see something change in his expression.
It goes from being blank to being all tight, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Which is both a good thing and a bad thing.
Good because at least he’s showing some reaction to my conversation rather than annoyingly staring down at me with no recourse in sight. Bad because his changing expression has forced me to pay attention to the little nuances of his face.
Something I usually avoid when we have the misfortune to run into each other.
Here’s the thing: he’s always been beautiful. There was never a question about it. His features sharp and defined. His skin all bronzed from playing under the sun.
But over the years, especially over the last year, something has changed.
His features have grown sharper. His cheekbones like jagged peaks of a cliff; his jaw razor-sharp. His eyes have grown darker and more intense and the lines around his mouth are more pronounced.
He looks edgier somehow.
More dangerous. More powerful. More kingly.
It could be a side-effect of going pro and his increased popularity. Or it could be something as inconsequential as the fact that he keeps a thick stubble now. On his jaw I mean. Thicker than a five o’clock shadow but not so thick that it can be called a beard. Actually, now that I think about it, I haven’t seen him clean-shaven in a year.
In thirteen months to be exact.
I wonder if…
No, I don’t wonder.
I do not wonder about him.
“Are you drunk?” he asks then.
My smile slips a little. “What, no.”
“High then.”
My smile slips some more. “I don’t… No. Absolutely not.”
His gaze studies my features and his frown only thickens. “What about cotton candy? You had too much sugar and it finally broke your brain.”
Okay, I just want to go on record and say that this is why I get provoked and go off on him. It’s not all my fault.
He does this on purpose.
He tries to get a reaction from me on fucking purpose.
And even though I’m on to him, it’s still very difficult to hold on to my cool. “Nope. My brain’s all intact and fine, thanks for asking though.”
He grinds his jaw. “So then why the fuck are you smiling like you’re in a toothpaste commercial?”
“Because I’m trying to be friendly, you asshole,” I snap before I can stop myself, my hands fisted at my sides and my teeth clenched.
“Friendly.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because believe it or not, I don’t like fighting with you.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Strange,” he murmurs, “because it usually gives me a hard-on.”
“Well your stupid hard-on is going to have to find a different way to survive.” I lean forward, glaring. “Because we’re family, all right, and I’m freaking done fighting with you.”
I realize though that that’s exactly what I’m doing.
Fighting.
Damn it.
Even though I’ve moved on from him and my little mishap in judgement for falling for him, I hate that he can so easily make me lose my cool. I hate that he has such control over me while I basically have none. So I straighten up and take a deep breath. I also tuck my hair behind my ears, pat down my dress and just try to get my composure back.
“Family,” he says, making me pay attention to him.
His expression is something I don’t understand.
It’s not as wooden as it was before and it’s not amused either. Like it was only a few moments ago when he was winding me up like a doll only to watch me dance for him.
But I don’t waste my time trying to solve the mystery as I reply, “Yes. Because my brother is married to your sister. Meaning we’ll be seeing each other, running into each other all the time. We can’t always be fighting with each other. So we need to make the best of it and just… keep the peace.”
I’m ashamed to admit that it hadn’t occurred to me before.
Reed and Callie have been married for like three months now and this is the first time that it’s hitting me. That he and I, we’re family. We’re forever bound to each other now whether we like it or not. Maybe that’s why I got so freaked out back at my brother’s house. Because Callie mentioned his name and family in the same sentence. Or it could be the fact that I simply don’t want any more friction in my life. I already have tons of complications, tons of drama, and I just need some calm.
Whatever it is, I just want to go home now.
Stuff my face with cotton candy and vodka and fall asleep.
But apparently he has other plans because he asks, “So who are you?”
“What?”
“To me,” he explains. “Now that we’re family.”
