The Boy I Hate(21)

She turned back toward the window, unable to face him any longer, and picked up a kitchen rag and began twisting it between her fingers. “About last night,” she began. “I’m going to tell Renee everything.” She nodded. “As soon as we get home.”

He adjusted his stance, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could tell he wasn’t happy. “It’s none of her business, Sam.”

She closed her eyes, opening them a second later to shake her head. “But it is. You’re her brother and I’m her best friend. Renee and I tell each other everything, and it’s killing me she doesn’t know.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She turned to face him, her heart pounding.

“Yeah.”

His eyes softened, and she immediately stepped backward. “What does that mean?”

“It means if you want to tell her, that’s fine with me.”

She grabbed hold of his shirt and pulled him into the pantry. “Why?” she whispered. “You’ve known me for nine years, yet last night was the first time you ever noticed me. Why?”

His brows furrowed and he looked into her eyes. “I’ve always noticed you, Sam.”

She swallowed, her hands flat against his chest, her back straining against the shelf that held all the canned goods, but all she could think about was kissing him again.

He chuckled, deep and coarse, but with a hint of something she didn’t understand. The action caused the dimple on his left side to sink into his cheek—and somehow make him look more handsome. His hands rested on the top of her arms, moving up and down in a way that made her lose her breath.

“You’re crazy,” he finally said. “All this time I thought you were this cute, nerdy girl who spent too much time reading.”

She licked her lips. “You thought I was cute?”

“Yes.” He laughed again. “Look, as much as I like being close to you, sooner or later someone’s going to come in here and find us in the pantry.”

Her eyes bulged and she turned to peek through the crack in the door. He was right. If Renee found her in the pantry with Tristan, there would be no explaining it. Nothing left to do but tell her the honest-to-God truth right there in the kitchen. She pushed him out the double doors, intending to follow right after him, but Mrs. Montgomery walked into the kitchen at that moment.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, stopping in her tracks. “Have you seen Samantha?”

Tristan laced his hands behind his head and shrugged. “Nope.” But it was not convincing. Not one tiny bit.

Mrs. Montgomery’s brows furrowed, and she looked over his shoulder. She turned back and tilted her head to the side as though she knew something was up. “Your father’s packing up the van and wanted to know if your suitcase was ready to be loaded.”

Tristan stepped forward and placed his arm around his mother’s shoulder. “Not yet, but I’ll do that right now.”

She looked up at him and smiled a knowing smile. “Son, why do you look so guilty?”

He laughed, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling before escorting her from the kitchen. “That’s just my face, Mom.”

“Uh, huh.” She laughed, but a moment later they were both gone, walking arm in arm into the living room.

Samantha pulled in a much-needed breath and slouched against the pantry shelves. She needed to get out of there before she was caught, but it was another few minutes before she felt comfortable enough to make the first step. She quickly checked her reflection in the kitchen window, hoping she didn’t look too flustered, and walked out to the dining room as quickly as she could.

Tristan was standing by the couch folding his clothes, but stopped as soon as he saw her. She reluctantly walked toward him, aware someone could walk into the room at any moment. “Don’t tell, okay?” she whispered without stopping. It was a juvenile request, but it was the best she had, given her time constraints.

He grinned slightly, making her heart squeeze with uncertainty. Because she was at his mercy, he held all the cards, and she was simply the joker in his pocket.

“It’s our little secret,” he replied, picking up the last folded shirt and placing it on top of his clothes in the suitcase before zipping it shut. He grabbed hold of the handle and threw it up to his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she whispered, but before she reached the top of the stairs, she turned around and looked back to the living room. He still had his suitcase lifted to the top of his shoulder, his hair shining from the sunlight that came in through the opened door, and she thought he might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life.