“She thinks I’m lovely,” I singsong under my breath.
“Only because she’s partially blind and senile,” Alex mumbles from the other side of Rhyland.
Since I’m on a roll, I reach around Rhyland and swat Alex on the back of the head.
“Hey,” he gripes, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at me. “I didn’t call you old and senile.”
“But you insulted the woman who took my side,” I point out. “Which is an insult to me.”
Jaxon cracks a tiny, approving smile at me from across the table.
I smile back at him. “Aw, I think you’re going to be my favorite Porterson, kid.”
“Then what am I?” Scarlett interrupts with a joking pout.
“Hmm …” I tap my lips with my fingertip. “How about you can be my favorite chick Porterson and Jaxon can be my favorite dude Porterson?”
“That’s not even remotely accurate.” Blaise rotates a shot glass between his hands, his gaze colliding with mine as I turn my head toward him.
“It completely is,” I assure him haughtily.
He shakes his head, leaning in. “We both know I’m your favorite Porterson.”
“No, we both know that you think my ass and face are beautiful,” I retort, but then bite down on my tongue.
Okay, I really didn’t mean to say that right now. I wanted to chat with him about it when not so many eyes and ears were around, especially Rhyland’s, since it’ll only add fuel to this wager we have going on.
Tension ripples through Blaise’s body. “What’re you talking about?”
“The message you sent me this morning.” I roll my eyes. “Please don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t from you. I have your number programmed into my phone.”
He slants back. “I didn’t … I don’t …” He clears his throat a couple of times then picks up the shot glass and downs half the tequila.
“Hey, that was for the toast,” the old man exclaims, smacking his hand against the table.
Blaise’s face scrunches then his shoulders tremble as he gags. “Sorry. My throat was scratchy. There’s still a little bit left, though.”
“No one tries to get rid of a scratchy throat by drinking tequila.” I pat his hand. “Nice way of trying to divert the subject, though.” As I pull my hand away, he snatches ahold of my fingers.
“Speaking of diverting the subject.” He yanks up the sleeve of my jacket, revealing the bandage underneath. “Where’d this thing come from? Because I know for a fact you didn’t have it wrapped up this morning when you were at my house.
“Why was Hadley at your house this morning?” Scarlett glances between the two of us questioningly.
“Because I needed to borrow some sugar.” I slip my hand from his and tug down the sleeve.
“If you say so.” Doubt and hurt ring in her tone.
Awkward silence trickles through the air as Scarlett sinks back in the chair and traces the cracks in the table. Poor girl looks as heartbroken as a Muppet baby who just learned puppets aren’t real. Guilt clutches at my chest for causing her to look so sad, but I don’t know her well enough to feel comfortable enough to tell her about my family’s drama, especially in front of a bunch of people I don’t know.
“All right, who’s ready to celebrate?” Hunter announces, raising a shot glass.
“What are we even celebrating?” Scarlett asks, reaching for a shot glass.
Hunter glances at Rhyland, who glances at Blaise, who glances at the old man—I seriously need to find out his name.
I slant to the side and whisper to Rhyland, “Who are these old people anyway?”
Rhyland chuckles and says way too loudly, “Hey Jay, Hadley wants to know who the old people are?”
The old man—Jay—glances around the table then his brows dip. “Old people? I don’t see any old people around here. I think your little lady friend might need to get her eyes checked.”
I may not get embarrassed often, but my cheeks flood with heat. “I didn’t say old,” I lie, discreetly elbowing Rhyland in the side.
“You’re so vicious,” Rhyland muses, tucking his elbow protectively against his side. “That’s okay, though. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t get along.”
“We don’t get along,” I remind him, reclining in the chair.
“Sure we don’t.” Sarcasm oozes from his tone. “Just like Blaise and you don’t flirt when you argue.”
“Wait. What?” Blaise leans forward and catches Rhyland’s eyes. “What’re you doing, man?”
Rhyland flashes him a toothy smile then shifts in the seat, twisting toward the other side of the table as he raises a shot glass in the air. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” everyone except me says then they each down a shot.
I feel out of place sitting here during a toast that’s clearly between the eight of them and consider excusing myself to the bathroom, but then Blaise reaches over, grabs my wrist, and sticks a shot glass in my hand.
“To new beginnings.” With his gaze welded to mine, he clinks our glasses then moves the brim to his lips and slowly drinks the shot.
I’m not going to lie. It’s kind of sexy. I’m not even positive why nor will I ever admit that to anyone. But in my mind, sure, I can accept that. That Blaise does look sexy as he slowly devours a shot while staring at me in that intense way that makes my blood speed up and my heart rate quicken.
Once he finishes the shot, he sets the glass down and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Aren’t you going to drink yours?”
“Why would I?” I ask. “I don’t even know what we’re toasting to.”
His lips quirk. “We’re toasting to new beginnings.”
“Obviously, but I’m not sure what those new beginnings are.” I know what my new beginning currently is—working for the most corrupt man in Honeyton. And no way in stupid, sucky land am I toasting to that.
He dips his head closer to mine. “Jay and Sofie just signed the auto shop over to my brothers and me. We’re now the official owners.”
I slant back to meet his gaze. “Are you freakin’ serious?”
He nods, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “I’m completely freakin’ serious.”
“Well, that’s awesome.” I mean it, too.
I may have only known the Porterson brothers for a few weeks now, but I feel like their situation is similar to mine and my sisters. And if someone signed an auto shop over to us, I’d be… well, I feel like maybe I’d be able to swim out of the damn murky water.
“Awesome enough to toast to?” He gives a pressing glance at the shot glass in my hand.
“Sure. Why not?” I throw back the shot, making sure not to finish all of it.
“You didn’t drink it all,” Rhyland notices as I set the glass down on the table.
“I can’t,” I tell him. When both he and Blaise give me questioning looks, I add, “I have to drive back to school and I’m a lightweight so…” I shrug.
“Hadley Harlyton a lightweight?” Blaise tugs on a strand of my hair. “Who would’ve thought?”
“I actually don’t drink a lot,” I admit with a shrug. “I’m not really a big fan of alcohol.”
An understanding look passes between Blaise and I. Then he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Now I feel bad for pressuring you into taking the shot,” he says, his fingers lingering in my hair.
“First off, let’s get one thing straight. No one can pressure me into doing anything. And second,” I angle my head to the side to get his fingers away from my hair, “what is with you and your obsession with touching my hair? Or is just so you can get a good view of my beautiful face.” I smirk, but inside all the hair touching has got me frazzled. Well, not the hair touching per se, but the way a light, tickling shiver kisses across my skin just from the hair touching.
“Wait. He called your face beautiful?” Rhyland asks through a laugh.
“No,” Blaise insists at the same time I say, “
Yes.”
Rhyland’s gaze shifts between the two of us. “Okay, one of you is lying, but I can’t figure out which.”
“Hadley, can I talk to you for a moment?” Blaise hisses, lightly tugging on my sleeve.
A smirk rises on Rhyland’s lips. “What’re you trying to run away from, Blaise?”
“I’m not running away. I just need to talk to Hadley without your big mouth around.” Blaise pushes away from the table, rises to his feet, and looks down at me expectantly.
Sighing, I stand up and follow him as he crosses the room and slips out into the bar. I expect him to stop in there, but he continues down the hallway and pushes through the back door, stepping outside and holding the door open for me.
Once I’m outside, he lets the door go and slides his hand into the front pockets of his jeans. He doesn’t say anything, simply squinting against the sunlight as he studies me.
“So, what do you need to talk to me about?” I finally ask, propping my boot up onto the brick wall behind me and slanting back. “I’m guessing it’s pretty top secret if we had to come all the way outside.”
He rubs his lips together, his gaze piercing into me. “I wanted to talk to you about the bandage on your wrist.”
“Good Lord,” I gripe, my head bobbling back. “Will you drop this?”
“Not until you tell me what happened.”
“It’s not a big deal, so let it go.”
“If it’s not a big deal, then why don’t you just tell me what happened?” He slips his hands from his pockets and scratches his arm. “Did …? Did Amelia do something to you?”
“That girl who was over at my house this morning?” I ask, and he nods. I bust up laughing. “You think that chick could hurt me? Seriously?”
“I already told you she’s tougher—and crazier—than she looks,” he reminds me. “And she’s Axel’s daughter, so …”
“So what?” I work to get my laughter under control. “You think Axel’s going to send his daughter to come after me? If that’s the case, then I have nothing to worry about.” At least when it comes to Axel.
Blaise’s dad, however, is an entirely separate problem.
“He might.” Blaise stares at the road down the alleyway with a pucker between his brows. “This morning, Amelia invited me to a party.” He meets my gaze. “She said she invited you, and that you agreed to go.”
“Well, she’s full of shit,” I tell him. “Because I never talked to her. In fact, the only other person I talked to at school today was your sister.”
His forehead creases. “Yeah, how did that happen anyway? I didn’t even realize you two knew each other.”
“We didn’t really. Still don’t. But we decided to try to feel out the whole friendship thing and see if we click.”
“But, why?” he wonders skeptically. “I mean, no offense to my sister, but she hasn’t had a real friend since grade school.”
“Really?” I ask, and he nods. “Why? She seems cool and everything.”
“Well, some of it has to do with her mother. She’s a real piece of work and has done a lot of shit over the years that lead to Scarlett getting bullied.” He blows out a breath. “The other part has to do with a couple years ago. Something happened to Scarlett and people refuse to let it go.”
I have a vague idea of what he’s referring to—the time Scarlett was sent to a psychiatric hospital.
“Well, people suck. At least those kinds of people.”
“Yeah, they do.” He searches my eyes. “Do you know what happened to Scarlett?”
“I have a vague idea, but only because I saw some stuff when I was looking up info about you guys.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
I shrug. “Everyone’s got their issues, including me, so who am I to judge?” I lower my foot to the asphalt and straighten. “Besides, I don’t even know the whole story yet, and from my experience, not everything is always what it seems.”
He smashes his lips together, bobbing his head up and down, his fiery gaze driving me damn crazy. “You really are different.”
“And you tell me that all the time.”
“Well, you are.”
“So are you.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“So am I.”
A beat skips by, and then he smiles. “You know, I was a little skeptical when Scarlett said you two were hanging out at lunch today. No offense, but you both sort of draw trouble, and I thought it might be a disaster. But I’m starting to think that maybe it’s a good thing.”
“Well, I’m glad I have your approval,” I say with an eye roll.
His smile only expands, but then promptly fades. “I still wish you’d tell me what happened to your wrist.”
Good God, I wish he’d just let this go, but since he refuses to, I’m going to have to lie.
Again.
“I fucking cut it, okay?” I fold my fingers around the bandage. “And it was really stupid how it happened and makes me look like a klutz, which I’m so not, so please don’t make me tell you the story.”
“Are you okay?” he asks worriedly.
I roll my eyes. “Of course I’m okay. I’m always okay.”
That just might be the biggest fucking lie I’ve told in a long time.
His gaze drops to my wrist then glides back up to my eyes. “You don’t need to go get it looked at, like, by a doctor or something?”
I huff out a breath. “No, I don’t. And you seriously need to stop worrying all the time.”
“I can’t help it,” he mutters, looking away from me. “It’s like second nature to me.”
That I can understand more than I wish I did.
“Well, you can stop worrying about me,” I promise. “I’m fine.”
He shakes his head, looking at me again. “No, you’re not, Hadley. But if you need to keep pretending you’re okay, then go ahead. Just know that I’m here to help if you need it.”
“Are you really sure you want to take this on when you’ve got three younger brothers and yourself to worry about already? Plus, you’re now the owner of an auto shop. Seems like your hands are pretty full.”
He winks at me. “Good thing I’m great at juggling.”
I can’t help laughing. “That was pretty lame.”
“Yeah, it sort of was.” He chuckles, combing his fingers through his hair. “Sorry, I must be tired or something.”
“It’s cool.” I pat his head. “You mean well.”
He rolls his tongue in his mouth. “Why are you always doing that?”
I lower my hand to my side. “Doing what?”
“Patting me? Like I’m a dog or something?”
“Sorry, I didn’t even realize I was doing it,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “Does it bother you?”
He gives a half-shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe if you let me do it to you, I might feel better.”
I dare a step forward. “All right, go ahead.”
“You’re really going to let me do it?” he asks disbelievingly.
“Sure. It only seems fair.” Plus, it might distract him from being fixated on my injured wrist and telling me he’s here to help me.
Every time he says stuff like that, I get super uncomfortable. I think I might have issues, but I’m not positive why or where they stem from.
He waits a beat for me to rescind my offer, and when my lips stay fused, he shrugs. “Okay.” He reaches out and momentarily pats my head, amusement sparkling in his eyes. But then our gazes weld, he swallows hard, and the patting shifts to softly brushing his fingers through my hair. I should stop him—I know I should—but it feels good, sort of like a massage, and makes my headache go down a notch.
“I like your hair,” he mutters, playing with the strands. “It’s so soft.”
“As much as you like my beautiful face and ass?” I aim for a teasing tone, but my shaky voice misses the mark.
Goddammit, Hadley, step back and make him stop fondling your hair.
I
nstead of listening to my smart, inner voice, my feet remain planted, acting completely stupid. And my stupidity only spreads when Blaise trails his fingers down my hairline to my bruised cheek while my feet still remain glued to the asphalt.
He gently caresses his knuckles across my skin. “How’s your face feeling?”
I force down a shaky breath. “You know, you need to stop worrying about that, too. It’s not like I’ve never had a bruised face before.”
Insinuation fills his pressing gaze. “Has your dad ever bruised your face before?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yeah.” And it’s the truth. He’s never bruised my face, but that doesn’t mean he’s never hit me before.
He continues stroking my cheek. “My dad used to hit me sometimes,” he admits quietly. “But when people would ask where the bruises came from, I’d lie because I was afraid and embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry.” My heart constricts, understanding his pain all too well. “That he hit you.”
“It’s fine. He’s out of my life now, so I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”
“My dad’s out of my life, too, so I guess I don’t have to either.”
His gaze flits to my bandaged wrist again. “Are you sure he’s completely out of your life?”
Is that what this is about?
“Wait. You think my dad did this?” I lift my wrist.
He wavers, trailing his fingers to my jawline. “I’m not sure, but part of me wonders if maybe you ran into him this morning—that that’s why you were late for school—and you don’t want to tell me because he asked you not to tell anyone he’s still hanging out in Honeyton.”
Despite the fact that his fingers caressing my face feels soothing, I step back and put some distance between us, an uneven breath I didn’t even realize I was holding easing from my lips.
Blaise blinks, lowering his hand to his side, his face a mask of confusion, making me wonder if he even realized he’d been petting my cheek for the last few minutes.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” I tell him sternly. “At this point in my life, with the trouble my dad has gotten not only himself but my sisters into, I would never cover his ass. If he does show up, I’m going to notify everyone who’s after him. Because, when it all comes down to it, it’s either protect him or my sisters, and I choose my sisters.”