Breaking the Ice (Juniper Falls)

  “Especially after the Cheerios,” I joke.

  Haley gives a half smile at that, but her eyes show defeat. I scrub a hand over my face and do something I know I’ll regret. “Look, let’s start over. Tomorrow, you and me. Making the most awesome Constitution project ever, okay?”

  Her whole face lights. “Together? Fifty-fifty?”

  “Fifty-fifty,” I confirm. Please don’t let this suck.

  Haley throws her arms around my neck, and I’m so shocked I don’t move to remove them. In fact, I return the hug, wrapping an arm around her tiny waist. The urge to pull her against me, grind our hips together, and swing her around hits hard and fast. I’m startled by this new development and release her, stepping back before anything else happens.

  Haley blushes, realizing my reaction. “Sorry. I’m a hugging person.” She nods toward her car. “Jamie, too. So watch out. He’ll crush you before you can ask him to let go.”

  I shove my glasses back to the bridge of my nose. “I’ll be sure to keep my distance. From Jamie,” I add. And you.

  Jesus. What the hell?

  Haley turns quickly and opens the car door. “See you tomorrow, Fletch. I’ll come about the same time?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  When I walk back into the living room, Cole has the recliner lying all the way back, and he’s staring up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head.

  “I think that went well,” he says, a big grin on his face.

  My stomach twists. I should just tell him that Haley’s not interested. But I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen Cole this happy, and I can’t bring myself to tell him. Besides, he thinks his chat with Haley—which was like a bizarre academic lesson in basic conversation—went well. He might not even believe me. Then I’d be the bad guy who told him he doesn’t stand a chance. Truth is, give it a couple of years and Cole might stand a chance with someone like Haley. Hell, that’s what happened with Tanley and Claire O’Connor. But right now, Haley and Cole are in very different places.

  The other reason that I don’t want to tell Cole what Haley said: I can’t get her out of my head—the feel of my arms around her…she’s the perfect size for me. I could lift her with a couple of fingers.

  So yeah, I need to get my head somewhere else ASAP. Lucky for me, the girls from work have been texting me all morning to come in early. I kick Cole’s foot. “I gotta get ready for work. Are you hanging out, or do you want a ride home? Braden’s bartending tonight, so he won’t be around.”

  Cole pops the recliner upright. “Think I can go with you guys?”

  I look him up and down and then laugh. “Uh-uh. You aren’t ready.”

  “I am. I totally am,” he says so earnestly, like I might actually say yes.

  “Where’s your fake ID?” I lift an eyebrow, waiting.

  He deflates. “You’ve been going for two years, and you just turned eighteen…”

  “As an employee,” I remind him. “Ricky’s had very strict rules in place for me.”

  This is sort of true. I wasn’t allowed to take customers back in the private rooms. And they were all warned to keep their hands out of my pants, but that only made women—and sometimes men—more determined and creative. Thank God for bouncers.

  Cole doesn’t press me further about joining me at work, and we spend an hour playing Xbox together before I drop him off and head out on the two-lane highway that leads to Longmeadow. I’d planned to get to work early with the intent of putting in some extra rehearsal time, but the second I walk through the door, Rosie and Henrietta clobber me with “birthday kisses,” and before long, we’re knocking back way too many shots of tequila and rum.

  Chapter Eight

  –Haley–

  Fletch never answered my text about bringing something over today, so I took that as a yes. When I pull into his gravel driveway for the second day in a row, I’m not empty-handed. I knock on the door a few times, and after no one answers, I ring the bell. I’m standing there nearly five minutes when I hear the dogs barking. An older man with jeans and boots and silver hair comes walking up from the lake behind the house, then a middle-aged man hops down from the roof of the barn—he’s got Fletch’s dark hair.

  Both men walk toward me at the same time, assessing me. The oldest one eyes the bread in my hand. I plaster on a smile. “I’m Haley Stevenson. Fletch and I are supposed to work on a project today…”

  The man with dark hair pulls off his work glove and reaches out to shake my hand. “Jeffery Scott. I’m Fletch’s dad.” He points to the older man. “And this is my dad.”

  “Haley Stevenson, huh?” Fletch’s grandpa looks me over again. “Guess he took our advice.” He plucks the bag from my hand and opens it immediately, burying his nose in it. “Whatcha got here?”

  “It’s not cookies,” I say right away.

  Okay, where is Fletch? And where is his mom? I’m really great with moms.

  “Cinnamon? Apples? Oats?” Grandpa guesses.

  Far in the distance, a motor or engine of some kind starts and then putters to a stop several times. Both men are frozen, listening, and then Fletch’s dad swears under his breath.

  “I better go check on that tractor,” Mr. Scott says, then he flashes me a grin that’s the polar opposite of his son’s usual sullen expression. “Nice meeting you, Haley.”

  “Come on.” Grandpa nods at me and opens the door, leading me through the kitchen. He ties the bread up tight again, and when he disappears into what looks like a closet, I swear to God I hear the thud of my homemade bread landing in a garbage can. But when Grandpa emerges, he grins big and says, “That’ll be great with dinner. Now let’s see what our boy is up to…”

  I stand awkwardly beside him while he knocks on Fletch’s door, getting no response. Before I can offer to come back later, he’s swinging the door open. The first sight I take in is the completely immaculate room. Nothing on the floor, no clutter anywhere. Shelves with large plastic-lidded bins line the walls.

  Fletch is sprawled on his stomach, one leg hanging off the twin-size bed. He’s wearing black dress shoes and black dress pants, a red button-down shirt untucked, probably partially unbuttoned, and barely on him. His hair is sticking up in every direction, like dozens of fingers have made their way through it. Smudges of red are scattered all over his face, his bare forearms, and the strip of flesh exposed on his side.

  Even more alarming are the various colors of lace—suspiciously resembling lingerie—poking out of the pockets of his pants. I take a step into his room, wanting a closer look. The faded green bills attached to Fletch’s waistband catch my eye. “Is that money?”

  “Oh boy.” Fletch’s grandpa eyes me warily, then he touches a hand to my shoulder. “If he asks, you let yourself in, okay?”

  I don’t even get to respond because he abandons me, walking quickly across the house, and the sound of the back door opening and closing follows him. And yeah, I could do the same. Obviously, I’ve caught Fletch at a bad time, so leaving is the wise thing to do. But now that I’ve seen all this, there’s no way I’m gonna take off before figuring this shit out.

  This is like a frat prank gone wrong. Maybe the community college has fraternities and Fletch is pledging?

  I walk all the way across the military-clean bedroom and stand over him. I was right. Actual money is stuffed in his pants. But I go for the lace-filled pockets first. Fletch is sleeping like the dead and doesn’t even stir when I pluck the first pair of panties from his pocket. I release it onto the immaculate floor right away and go for another one. Between both pockets, he’s got two black pairs, a green, and two red. All thongs. I go after the cash next, my fingers brushing his skin in the process.

  Before long, a pile of bills is stacked up on the bed, and I’m more confused than ever about my supposedly nerdy Civics partner.

  Chapter Nine

  –Fletcher–

  I wake up with a pounding headache, my eyes refusing to open. Okay, this is not happening again. I?
??m two steps from an afterschool special. Maybe three steps from a twelve-step program.

  “Look at you sitting there like such a good girl,” a soft yet familiar feminine voice says. “What is Fletch going to buy you with all this money? You deserve a new toy, maybe some treats…”

  Oh no…no way. My eyes finally open, and the first thing I see is the digital clock beside me: 11:30. Then I lift my head and look around for the body that goes with that voice.

  Haley is sprawled out on my floor, Vixen curled up beside her. And a bunch of cash sorted into piles is stacked in front of her.

  Shit. Oh shit.

  I pull myself up to a sitting position, my mouth too dry to speak. A cold breeze from the vent above my head hits my stomach, and I glance down at my bare chest, taking in the lipstick smudged all over it. I yank my shirt together, buttoning it quickly.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Haley flashes me a devious grin. “What a night, huh? Four hundred and eighty-two dollars. Is that what you usually pull for those…odd jobs?”

  Oh God, this is bad. Really bad. Like moving to Duluth to live with Mom bad. My stomach twists, and I stumble out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom. I don’t even get the door all the way shut before I’m leaning over the toilet, puking up way too many shots of rum. Never again. Never again.

  I wait for the heaving to stop before flushing the toilet and leaning over the sink to rinse my mouth. Still a bit unsettled, I sit down on the bathroom floor and lean against the tub. I almost forget Haley’s presence in my house until the door creaks all the way open and she’s standing in front of me, holding a glass of water.

  She hands it to me, surprisingly lacking the judgmental look I’d been expecting.

  “Thanks,” I croak out after taking a long drink. “Sorry. About sleeping through our study session or project session or whatever…”

  Haley squats down and assesses me. “Your eyes are really red. You’re not a drug addict, are you?”

  “Shit. My contacts.” That would explain the glued-together feeling my eyes had this morning. And the fact that they’re burning right now. I pull myself to my feet and fumble around in the medicine cabinet for my solution. Relief hits the instant my eyes are free of those things. But the world blurs in front of me. Haley walks out of the bathroom then pops back in, holding my glasses.

  “I didn’t know you wore contacts,” she says.

  “Just to play hockey.”

  “And for work, right?”

  The grin I saw right when I woke up returns to her face. This little screwup on my part is going to cost me. Big time. I put my glasses on and spin to face Haley. “I went out with my older brother last night after work. He likes to mess with me.”

  She smooths out the grin and offers a nod. “Okay, so your older brother likes to mess with you by covering your body in lipstick, stuffing thongs into your pockets, and dropping…oh, like, four hundred dollars into your pants. That makes perfect sense. I don’t have a brother, but if I did, I’m sure that’s what he’d do to me.”

  Well, it is partly true. I hung out with Braden after work, but we were still at work and there were lots of others around, too—mostly female others. And Paco. And Danny…I think Rowdy, too.

  “I’ll tell you what, Fletch,” Haley says, reaching around me and turning the knobs on the shower. “I’ll give you two choices…one, you can tell me the truth about that little job of yours and I’ll leave you alone with your hangover. Or two, you can clean yourself up and get your head together and do some work with me, and I’ll forget about the panties and the money and the lipstick…”

  I doubt she’ll forget anything, but I have to hold out hope at least. I glance warily at her. “Option two. Definitely two.”

  The smirk on Haley’s face is gonna be forever etched into my memory. She knew I’d pick option two. She points to the shower and gives me a little wave. “I’ll be in the living room hanging out with Vixen.”

  I lock my bedroom door behind her and then the bathroom door. I down the entire glass of water and then brush my teeth for nearly five minutes before hopping into the shower. By the time I’m out and dressed, I feel 20 percent less hungover.

  Haley is stretched out on the couch with Vixen. Today, she came prepared for dog interaction, wearing long jean shorts and a dark tank top, along with running shoes. Her wavy blond hair is up in a ponytail. She turns around when she hears my door open.

  Her gaze sweeps over me, her eyes landing on my gray baseball T-shirt with Meh written across the front. “I think I like it better when you’re mentally correcting my grammar.”

  Yesterday’s T-shirt. I lean against the door frame, not sure how to proceed with this studying thing after the start we’ve had today. “Why is that?”

  Haley stands and then shrugs. “I like thinking about people thinking about me inside their heads. Guess I’m self-centered like that.” She doesn’t give me room to comment or protest. “You should probably eat something. Otherwise you might get sick again.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “You sound like someone who knows her way around a hangover.” Subconsciously, I’m digging for dirt on Haley. I need some collateral, just in case.

  “Yep, I’ve had a few,” she says, no hint of regret in her voice. “Not my finest moments, but it happens.”

  I haven’t moved much, so Haley takes it upon herself to shove me from behind, toward the kitchen. “I’m going, I’m going.”

  “Good, because I can’t be here all day. I’ve got this arts and crafts with Girl Scouts thing to do later.” She opens my fridge and glances around. “Damn, this is like the cleanest kitchen ever.”

  I laugh, but there’s nothing funny about the truth behind that fact. “My grandpa runs the kitchen. He keeps a tight ship.” After nearly killing me once, he calls it his penance.

  “I make great omelets,” Haley says, still glancing around the fridge. “That’s a surefire hangover cure. With lots of cheese. And bacon if you have it.”

  I’ve already got a pot on the stove, and my water and oatmeal measured out. “No thanks.”

  Haley actually looks disappointed, and after careful observation of her while I’m cooking and then eating, I think it’s because she can’t stand not having something to do. She kept folding and unfolding napkins, braiding her hair three different ways, scribbling cheers in her notebook, practicing turns on my kitchen floor.

  Finally, after fifteen excruciating minutes, I dump my bowl into the sink and glance at my room before deciding that I can’t possibly be trapped in there with Haley. I grab her backpack from the floor and toss it over my shoulder. “Let’s work on our project outside.”

  “Outside?” Her nose scrunches, but she follows me anyway. She snaps her fingers once, and Vixen comes trotting in and heads straight for Haley’s side.

  I stare at her, my mouth half open. “What are you doing to my dog?”

  “Just giving her plenty of love and attention. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  My only response to that is to glare. I give my dog plenty of love. Jesus. I blow out a breath. “Come on, I wanna get this over with.”

  …

  “Haley,” I say for the third time. Finally, I lean over her and remove her sunglasses.

  She jolts to life, rolling over quickly onto her stomach. “Do you ever sit on the roof of the barn? I bet the view is amazing from up there.”

  I scrub my hands over my face. For a full forty-five minutes we managed to outline the basics of our Constitution presentation and begin writing the material, then I lost her, though she seems in denial of this fact. The weather outside is perfect—seventy-two and sunny—so I’m not too burned up about being out here in this project hell.

  Haley leaps up from the grass and heads to the barn, glancing over the sidewall and the roof. “I could climb this…” She turns to me. “Can I climb this?”

  “Whatever.”

  I watch her place her foot in the exact place I’ve used to hoist myself up a thousan
d or more times. She glances over her shoulder. “Spot me, okay?”

  Instead, I climb behind her, barely keeping up. When we get to the top, I sit down on the slanted roof, taking in the view. I never get tired of it. My entire life I’ve been looking out here, and it’s still amazing. The giant lake behind Grandpa’s house is visible, plus his ten acres of cornfields—even Braden and Dad on the tractor are easy to spot. Haley takes five seconds to look out, and then she’s walking up and down the side of the roof like it’s a balance beam.

  “Hey Fletch?” She pauses to make sure I’m listening. “Is it true what you told Jamie yesterday? About wanting to take Red’s spot?”

  “I didn’t—”

  She lifts her sunglasses and gives me a look. “You did. You want a better spot. Right?”

  “Who doesn’t?” This conversation is making me very uncomfortable. “Statistically speaking, if I’m on the varsity roster for an entire season, I’ll get at least three hours of playing time. At least. So I’m already in a better position.”

  “That’s your wall, huh?”

  I look up at her, completely confused. “My wall?”

  “Yeah, your wall. The thing you put between you and people.” She increases her pace, spinning on the ball of her tennis shoe when she reaches each end. “It’s obvious that I’m ruining all your plans. You throw your smart-person mumbo-jumbo stats at people, if you even bother talking to them—”

  “Haley!” I bolt upright, watching her foot slip in slow motion. One foot comes out from under her and then the other. My heart jumps up to my throat, my arm shooting out, hooking around her waist. I grab her, preventing her from falling, then pull her down as quickly as possible, forcing her to lie on her back on the slanted side of the roof.

  Chapter Ten

  –Haley–

  The breath is sucked out of my lungs, my heart on a high-speed chase. My head slams against the roof a little harder than I would have liked, but luckily, I’m not on the ground dead or paralyzed. Vixen barks from below, showing her concern.