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Do I hate Becker? He’s annoying, irritating, and obnoxious. He’s way too cheerful at six-thirty in the morning, and this bizarre mixture of organized chaos that leaves you feeling a little like a tornado just swept past you but instead of leaving a giant mess behind, it rearranges everything and suddenly you can’t find your keys, your shoes are gone, phone’s missing, but there’s no evidence whatsoever.
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“What?” The way he stares at me is unsettling. “I have zero patience for Northern losers who ask dumb-ass questions.” My stomach churns and blood rushes through my veins. Oh God, I am one of those weird, clueless Northerners. It’s like when someone from the U.S. asks someone in another country what state they live in. There’s more to the South than heat, gnats, and sweet tea. Apparently, camo patterns are a sacred entity and I’ve committed an egregious sin with my lack of knowledge. But I also take issue with Ryne’s attitude. I step into his space and cross my arms. “Funny, I have zero
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“I know I’ve said this before, Ev, but seriously. The senior guys here look more like men than boys. They don’t grow ‘em like this where I’m from.”
As someone who grew up in the South, I've heard this exact saying so many times.
He motivates people and helps keep the energy up. I don’t have the patience. Having to be all rah-rah go-team all the time to keep morale up is pretty much the antithesis of my personality.
Sometimes I want to kick my own ass. Fucking distractions.
My muscles tense as that ever-present pain in the core of my being twinges at the mention of my dad. I try to keep it buried but it’s like those stupid zombie movies where the hand lurches up through the dirt and grabs the unsuspecting human by the throat. It refuses to stay buried.
I sigh heavily and Nathan glances at me over his reading glasses. He puts his book down and sets his glasses aside. “What’s up, Ryne? Girl troubles?” I stare at him stonily. “Boy troubles?” A loud, annoyed huff bursts from me, and I hold my tablet up closer to my face. It’s like when you’re a toddler. Maybe if I can’t see him, he can’t see me. No such luck.
I’ve got just enough space left in my mostly-dead heart for them. My boys get a tiny sliver, too, and that’s about all I’ve got to give. Nobody else will ever squeeze their way in there. I just don’t have the physical or mental capacity for it, and I’m okay with that. Love is overrated anyway. You put all that time and effort into another person and then they die or cheat or leave or just otherwise turn into some kind of psycho and you’ve got to run for cover. The thought literally makes me nauseous.
He taps his ear. “Whatcha listening to?” “Nothing. They’re not on.” A comically confused perplexed face stares back at me. “Then why are you wearing them?” “To keep people like you from pestering me.”
He bites his lip like he’s holding back a smile and damn it I have half a mind to be like hey, don’t hold back. Let me see it. Maybe it’ll brighten up this cesspool of a mood I’m currently working with. But no. No. And hell no. “But then I’d lose this perfect opportunity to pester you.” This time he doesn’t hold back, and the light of a thousand suns slams into me with his ear-to-ear grin. I need some mental sunglasses, Jesus.
“I’m not attracted to you. You’re delusional. I don’t like you.” I don’t know where this over-confidence comes from, but I want to push. I’m not typically unconfident but I’m also not usually quite this forward. Ryne seems to always be the one to bring it out of me. “Keep telling yourself that, Ryne. Besides, you don’t have to like someone to be attracted to them. Trust me,” I retort dryly. “I know all about that.”
His words startle me and the intensity pouring from him washes over me like the tide coming in, invading every nook and crevice within me. With his next words, he sucks me back out to sea with him, his gravitational pull is that strong.
Of course, I apparently subscribe to his brand of torture, so I don’t know what that says about me. There’s just something about him that intrigues me, has me wanting to reach inside that gruff and moody exterior to see what’s underneath. I got so close I could almost touch it this summer at camp.
People say curiosity killed the cat; I hate that expression. Not only is it a cheesy cliché, but new and amazing things come from curiosity. I have a sneaking suspicion Ryne Sutton is one of those fascinating discoveries just waiting for the right gutsy explorer to come along, someone with enough balls to go for it. All I have to do is reach out, take the plunge. Now, granted, when I pull my hand back it might be missing a few fingers. But I have a feeling whatever I find will be worth the pain.
“I know you don’t like me.” It takes all of my restraint not to use air quotes but whatever. “I don’t really understand why.”
I need to focus. I can’t let Dacen keep distracting me like this. It’s got to stop. But how? No fucking clue. And do I really want it to? No. And why that is, is the million-dollar question. Ever since he apologized for talking about me, it’s like, I don’t know, he’s less annoying now. I don’t know why. What I do know is if Tyler’s not just messing around with me, if he actually is into Dacen… My competitive streak flares alive. Tyler’s my boy, but I met Dacen first, and, well, I don’t even know how to finish that thought.
He waves his hand in their general direction. “I still don’t get what your issue is with him, the whole ‘he left in the middle of a game’ thing.” Roman uses air quotes. “It doesn’t make sense. I left in the middle of a game of laser tag in seventh grade and yet here we are, still best assholes.” I roll my eyes. “Yeah, it’s not the same thing.” And that’s not really the issue.
Christ, I need to get dumber friends. I’m getting tired of these people seeing right through me like I’m a thin sheet of paper.
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His shy smile, reminiscent of one of his first smiles to me ever, lights up his face. The overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him catches me off guard, and I suck in a breath.
Carolina blue eyes that, when you’re close enough to see each fleck of color and nuance of pattern, are like looking into a crystal-clear swimming pool, all clear blue with rays of sunshine rippling in their depths. I can’t believe that thought just came from my head.
“What’s that, grumpy pants? I didn’t catch what you said.” “I SAID,” I snap at him with more venom than I’d intended so I clear my throat and start again. “I said he’s blindingly bright, like an almost hurts the eyes kind of thing.” Heat creeps across my cheeks and for once Tyler is silent. Even though I’m alone in my room, I pull the hood of my sleeveless shirt over both my headset and head and tug it down low. He clears his throat. “I can see how he might come across that way to you, Mr. Broody. You’d sit alone sulking in the dark all the time if given the option. It’s like when you have
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“Maybe, but he’s good for you, or he could be anyway. Prove me wrong.”
I can only handle so much people-ing at one time,
I know he doesn’t ask for it and certainly doesn’t want it, but at this moment a little piece of my heart breaks free and skips precariously close to Ryne’s open hand as he draws it back to his side.
“I’m not afraid of emotions. I’m allergic to them. There’s a difference.”
“There’s a substantial difference between a redneck, a hillbilly, and a southerner.”
He’s a puzzle and I like a challenge. The need to figure him out is just as necessary, just as real, as my need to breathe air. Each exposure to him rewires my brain a bit more, for better or for worse. And this morning when his warm breath tickled my skin with his whispered words? It’s like he’s crawled into my soul and taken up camp. Whether it’s a temporary residence or not I don’t know. He sure isn’t going to make this easy, whatever this is. That much I know for sure.
Dacen’s stupid planner is going to be the death of me. I will have died, and on my tombstone, it will read: R.I.P. This sucker was bested by a brightly colored spiral-bound planner with color-coordinated tabs and an obscene amount of extremely neat and sparkly handwritten notes and lists inside. He never stood a chance.
It doesn’t escape my notice Roman’s question is directed to me like it’s my responsibility to address this shit. Somewhere in the deep, dark corners of my mind, a voice agrees.
Wonderful. I look like shit. Dacen feels like shit. There’s nothing I can do about my lack of sleep, but there might be something I can do for Dacen.
His eyes widen even more when I wink at him and walk away. The corners of my lips tug up when I turn back to catch one more glance at Dacen. He stands there, staring after me, his face completely lit up. The tension that had been on it all day is no longer there and I cannot explain the sense of relief that washes over me.
It might seem weird and a bit neurotic to others, my slight obsession with it, but as Dad says, that’s a them-problem, not a me-problem.
“Hey, maybe you and Evan will end up being voted homecoming king and queen. Wouldn’t that be hilarious? I can hear it now… ‘Ev and Ev, please come up to the stage for your coronation.’ You’d go down in history as the cutest Knoxton Falls royalty to ever exist. Then you can fall in love and get married and live happily ever after.”
“Evan and Evelyn Kennedy. How frickin’ awkward does that sound?” “Or how PERFECT does it sound, you mean? You could totally rock Ev ’n Ev Kennedy.” She shakes her head vehemently. “No, no way. Our names are wholly incompatible, as are we. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Don’t give me that look, Dacen!” “You’re so weird.” “And he’s so ugh.” “He doesn’t actually seem so bad, once you get past the goofy stuff.” “Ugh,” she repeats emphatically.
Once again, Ryne is hot and cold. On and off. He has so many freaking shields I have no idea who I’m dealing with from one moment to the next.
Ryne and I lock eyes and he quickly turns away. I don’t tend to run high on the drama scale, but right now my loud, overly dramatic sigh seems warranted.
Evie shrugs. “Maybe it’s a solidarity brood. You know, an 'all for brooding and brooding for all' kind of thing.”
“He does look really hot though, even if he is on my last nerve this evening. He’s kinda like a living, breathing, hotter version of Oscar the Grouch.” Noah chokes on his sip of water. “Hotter? As in Oscar the Grouch has achieved some level of hotness?” I wave my hand around airily. “You know what I mean.”
His eyes still scream with the unshed pain he carries, but he’s forced the rest of his expression into more neutral territory. You can’t control the eyes though. There’s a reason they say the eyes are the window to the soul. Those two fuckers are always hopped up on truth serum. Unless you’re some kind of a psychotic bastard, the eyes will always show your truth. No matter how hard you try to shutter them, how many walls you throw up, and how many lies fall from your lips, the eyes are like an annoying younger sibling gleefully spilling all of your secrets. And Ryne’s eyes? They’re some of the
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“It’s fine. I have thick skin. It takes more than that to rattle me.” Thick skin? Or defensive shields? I suspect it’s the latter, and that his shields are full of cracks he’s not even aware of. I wish he’d let me slip through one of them and work my way inside.
Maybe I’ve worked at least a foot through one of his shields. But will he ever let me the rest of the way in? I’d sure as hell rather be invited in than have to sneak my way in like some stealthy love ninja. The thought of a little miniature version of me dressed in all black head to toe and weaseling my way through Ryne’s barricades makes me smile.
“Why are you smiling, Dacen?” “It’s not against the law to smile, is it?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and stares at the glass case while he speaks. “It should be illegal in all fifty states for you to smile with those dimples. They’re major assault weapons.” Ryne turns toward me again and this time when he reaches a hand out he doesn’t pull away. The backs of his fingers brush along my cheek. “These things could easily bring a guy to his knees.” My smile deepens and he sucks in a breath. I take a step closer. “You’re still standing, Ryne. Are you immune?” He stares long and
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Our eyes stay locked until he turns around. There are silent promises made in those few seconds, dirty ones based on the gleam in his eye and the smile on my lips. Forget scorched. The flames from the blazing inferno that is Ryne Sutton engulf me completely.
