Curious, I meander over, balancing my plate with one hand and trailing the other along the shelves. Surprised by the diversity of titles, I finger a vintage copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, which is sandwiched in between a biography on John F. Kennedy and the Maze Runner series. There’s a colorful row of the same children’s Encyclopedias I had growing up, and I crack a nostalgic smile.
I loiter a bit longer and sigh, knowing I should rejoin the group I came here with: Greyson, Cal, and their friend Aaron. The fact that I’m hiding in a corner is absolutely ludicrous; I’m a grown woman.
Nonetheless, I glance over my shoulder.
Yup. Still staring.
Dammit!
Why is he still staring? What is his deal?
Rattled by his attention, I stare at my plate, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and a tiny, nervous knot takes root in my stomach. When I inhale a deep breath and count to three, raising my head again to meet Collin’s eyes, that knot turns into a flutter.
A flutter of excitement.
He doesn’t even have the decency to pretend not to be watching me, hoisting his beer glass up in a silent toast, nodding his head towards me in a friendly greeting.
It’s his eyes, however, that give him away.
They’re perceptive. Insightful. Kind but also… shrewd. And he was acting weird at Blooming Grounds. I mean, how many times did the guy say come in a sixty-second period? Five? Six?
He knows something. I can feel it.
I lean against my shiny stainless steel oven, arms crossed as I blatantly stare at Cal’s sister from across the kitchen of my new condo. I’m half listening to something my childhood friend Dex is saying, and my narrowed eyes bore into Tabitha Thompson as she tucks a loose, dark blonde strand of hair behind her ear, then tips her head back to laugh.
Her throat is tan and graceful and smooth.
Just how I remember it.
Damn, I bet she smells good, too.
Casual in jeans and a plain black tee shirt, there is no mistaking the resemblance between Tabitha and her brother now that they’re in the same room together. Both tall with dirty blonde hair, they share the same bright blue eyes and height; but where Cal is hard and rugged—rough around the edges—sporting a perpetual black eye and scarred lip from rugby, Tabitha is all feminine curves and delicate features.
When I said she had a bony ass two weeks ago, I was full of shit.
She’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
She writes sleazy romance novels and works for a construction company.
She called me ridiculously good looking—ridiculously good looking. What does that even mean?
I continue observing her, waiting for her attraction towards me to manifest itself in some way—a flirty glance in my direction, a coy smile. Shit, I’ll settle for eye contact.
She’s giving me nothing.
If Tabitha Thompson is attracted to me, she sure as shit hides it better than most; she’s been avoiding me like the plague since stepping her high-heeled feet through the front door of my condo.
I have to give her props; she’s stealthy, that one. I’m talking expert-level evasion. My condo isn’t large, but somehow she’s managed to elude me like the fiercest competitor in a game of Mortal Kombat.
Not to brag, but I’m fucking great at that video game. I will Level 300 that shit against any thirteen-year-old and kick their tech-savvy ass. Oh, Mortal Kombat doesn’t have levels, you say? Tough shit. It does when I play—I’m so badass I make levels.
It’s been one week since I bumped into her writing at Blooming Grounds, and two weeks since Grey and I ran into her shopping. But since her arrival at my housewarming party, she’s been dodging me, pretending not to be affected by my presence.
Like right now, for example, Tabitha is bearing down on the snack table, staring at the sandwiches and loading up on nachos like she’s a waitress in a bar, and it’s her job. She’s probably not even going to eat any of it; she just doesn’t want to turn around and acknowledge me.
As if I wouldn’t notice her reluctance to be in the same room. I enter a room, she exits. I move through a room, she crosses to the other side. Cat and mouse.
In my own damn house.
Shit, now she has me rhyming.
This little game of hide and seek is driving me fucking nuts.
“Are you even listening?” An elbow meets my ribcage, jarring me momentarily. Finally nodding at something Dex is saying beside me, I turn towards Cal and rejoin their conversation.
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
My sister’s boyfriend tracks my movement, looking over at his sister and then at me. He briefly pauses before responding. “I asked Dex if he was coming with you to my match against Purdue in two weeks. He said no.”
Dex pulls at the preppy bowtie around his throat. “Can’t. My sisters have a thing.”
He has sixteen-year-old twin sisters.
“High school musical opening night,” he explains. “Shouldn’t be too bad. This year they’re doing…”
Nodding absentmindedly, I stop listening to watch Tabitha out of the corner of my eye. She leans against the far wall of my living room, balancing a monster plate of chips and veggies while smiling at something my aunt Cindy and cousin Stella are saying. At that moment, her tongue darts out between cherry-red lips to lick the corner of her mouth.
My eyes are riveted.
“Alright, let’s cut the crap,” Cal’s deep voice interrupts, along with another quick jab to my ribcage. “What’s going on between you and my sister?”
“Nothing.”
He doesn’t mince words. “Bullshit. I’ve been watching you watch her try to get away from you all night.”
Strangely enough, I understand every word he just said. And since he brought it up, I might as well ask. “Yeah, what is up with that?”
I cross my arms over my chest resentfully, still staring at Tabitha.
“Okay, I get it now.” Cal tips back his beer and swallows hard. “No wonder she didn’t want to come.”
My head whips around. “What the hell does that mean?”
The bastard laughs drolly. “Grey had to practically force her.”
“Why?”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “Because. I guess she’s still embarrassed about accusing Greyson of cheating on me with you or some shit. We had to pull out the big guns to get her here.”
For fuck’s sake. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we had to fucking bribe her to come. We knew at some point you’d have to see each other again, and figured she might as well get it over with. Grey swore she’d come home for a girls’ night out with Tab’s friends. Oh—we also promised her she didn’t have to talk to you tonight.” He tenderly traces two fingers over his left eye, which is blackened by a fresh bruise and stitched up with black thread. “Still, we literally had to shove her into my truck. I felt like a goddamn kidnapper, minus a disturbing lurker van.”
Lovely.
But can I point something out? Two weeks ago she called me ridiculously good looking—not to mention, she was totally checking me out at Target. Damn straight she was. Which means she’s attracted to me.
Like I’m going to forget that little factoid anytime soon. Not a chance.
Cal taunts, “I mean—just look at her trying to avoid you and shit.”
He’s right. Tabitha skulks from the snack table to the bookshelf on the far wall of my living room, balancing her loaded plate in one hand and running the other along the wooden shelves. She trails the tips of her fingers across a leather-bound volume of Walt Whitman, then all the way over to a copy of Divergent.
She pops a chip in her mouth, chewing slowly, and stands rigidly, studying the contents of my collection—which isn’t that extensive. I’m not a big reader or anything, but I have a few good ones, most of them gifts from my mom, who’s always tried to get me to read more. And play Sudoku. Improve my “brain function,” like I have all the time in the world for word puzzles and shit.
Also propped on the bookshelf, dead center on the middle shelf not far from where Tabitha is lingering, is her novel, faced out and eye level. All she has to do is take three dainty steps to her left. Three tiny steps or one hundred and sixty degrees to her left, and she’d see it.
Right there, in front of her beautiful face.
I raise the beer bottle in my hand to my lips, sipping with a wide smirk when Tabitha turns her back to the books. Yup, I’m confident she doesn’t know I have her paperback proof. Her naughty, naughty little novel, all marked up with edits and comments.
I can hardly wait to finish reading the damn thing.
Then tell her about it.
Man, she is going to be pissed.
A sick part of me is disappointed, wanting her to turn back around and notice the book; it would force her to confront me. And yeah, it’s kind of a dick move to keep it and display it out in the open where anyone could see it, put two and two together—but what are the odds of that happening? Slim to none.
It must be important. And yes, I realize I have to eventually return it, but seriously, what fun would it be to just hand it over?
No. I’m going to make her work for it.
Does that make me a sick bastard, or what?
Blare could hardly believe she was seeing him again. She actually wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. Unfortunately for her, she was trapped in this condo with a group full of people, her ride home no closer to being ready to leave than she had been ten minutes earlier.