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“What do you think they’re talking about over there?” Buttercup asks after we’ve been chatting for a few minutes. “Lily hasn’t mentioned ‘Captain America’ at all.” She rolls her eyes. “We usually tell each other everything. It’s J… Lily and me against the world. I’m a little confused.”
“Join the club. Although even Lily looked confused when you first got here. Maybe they met online?” I throw the idea out there before really thinking about how unlikely it is. I’m not even sure Tate’s on social media.If he is, he’s never mentioned it.
Buttercup scrunches her nose, seemingly thinking it through, until an idea hits her. “Lily’s a gamer; maybe they met that way? Is the Cap a gamer?”
“Definitely not.” I laugh. Even if we had some kind of console or streaming service, I doubt he’d play.
“Damn, I thought that might explain why he has a nickname.” She laughs. “Though it doesn’t explain why you do. Unless you’re a gamer? Care to fill me in?” She bites back a smile as she looks my way, drawing my eyes to her shiny pink lips. I can’t figure out if she’s wearing gloss, or if she wet them with her tongue. Either way, it makes me want to kiss her.
“So…” she drawls, bringing my attention back to the conversation.
I’d almost forgotten she’d asked me a question.
With a small shrug, I give her the answer Tate gave me. “It’s because I want to steal from the rich to help the poor.” Although his exact words were, “do you think you’re going to steal from the rich to pleasure the poor?” And in that scenario, it would be Buttercup I was stealing, and I’m the poor.He’s an asshole.
Buttercup laughs and there’s something about her that makes me think she’d laugh at the truth too.
“What a hero,” she says, fake gushing. “Although, because Cap mentioned it, all I can picture is theMen in Tightsversion of you. We’re in a forest; perhaps you’d like to dance?”
“Fucking Tate,” I grumble, but fail to hide my suppressed grin.
Buttercup laughs again. “I think it’s cute.”
“Cute?”Goddammit. “I amnotcute.”
“You are a little bit cute.” She scrunches her nose as she shrugs, making me want to show her just how “not cute” I am. But I don’t want to scare her away. I’m sure that will happen on its own.
Buttercup’s sassy grin returns, and she rolls her eyes again. “Okay, you’re not cute. Let’s move on. Tell me, what do you do when you’re not at school?”
As we talk, Buttercup draws pictures in the dirt, and for some reason, I commit them all to memory. It’s nothing spectacular—a sun, some trees, even a dog, or maybe it’s a horse; she’s not exactly an artist—but there’s one that really holds my attention, and while it could be described as a scribble, it feels like more than that. It almost looks like script or cursive writing, but it’s impossible to make out what it says. That is, until I realize she’s singing along as she writes. She’s writing the title of the song.
I run a broken fingernail across my wrist, mindlessly copying her design onto my skin, only looking away when I notice a faint red outline appear.
“I still can’t believe I’ve never seen you before,” Buttercup muses without looking up, cutting into my thoughts.
“I’ve seen you,” I say without thinking, then freeze, dropping my hand as her eyes flash to mine.
“You have?”
“Ah, yeah. I have,” I say, nervously running a hand through my hair.Dammit. How do I get out of this without looking like a stalker? “I think you were getting ice cream, near the library in Mossman Hills.”At least she was the last time I saw her, but there have been many moments.
“Ooh busted. That was definitely me. I often catch the bus there when I don’t want to go home. It gives me time to walk around unnoticed. Although, turns out I’m not completely unnoticed.” She bites her lip as she smirks my way, and I huff out a laugh. I’m the one that’s been busted. “Maybe next time I can visit with a purpose?” she proposes, crinkling her nose again, and I have to stop myself from blurting out yes.I’d do anything to see her again…to talk to her more. There’s always been something about her reeling me in.
“If you do, I can show you where the locals get desserts,” I say with a shrug, trying to appear casual.
Buttercup stands up beside me. “Yes!” she says excitedly. “That would be heaven. I love sweet things when I’m stressed, and let’s just say my family has been driving me to sugar lately.”
She huffs out a shy laugh and apologizes under her breath before launching into an explanation. “I don’t usually spill, but—”
“Trust me, I get it. Sometimes we just need to vent.”
“Again. Yes!” Her voice rises before she covers her mouth with her hand and winces. “Oh God, that was a little too enthusiastic.”
She grabs my arm as she giggles to herself, and I involuntarily flinch from the pain. Since she’s laughing, I expect her not to notice.But I’m wrong.
“What happened?” she asks, her hand hovering over my sleeve as though she’s itching to check for damage.
My heart races as I consider lying, but something has me wanting to tell her everything.
