“Well, it’s the lesser of the two evils today. Lucky you,” I tell Bree, my eyes still fixed on Coy. “Why don’t you run back to my house and get it out, and I’ll be right there?”
“Yay!” Bree squeals as she runs through the open gate toward my house.
“Keep it on the table,” I shout after her, already regretting the idea.
But as my attention lands back on Coy, I realize I didn’t have a choice.
Seeing him on television and in magazines at the grocery store is one thing because I can turn the channel or look away. I scroll by online articles about him like it’s my damn job, and every time he’s on the radio, I change the station.
But in person, it’s different. And it’s definitely not that easy.
If I hate one thing in this world besides Coy, it’s feeling vulnerable. Standing in front of him makes my carefully constructed shields develop cracks the size of the Marianas trench.
“Glitter?” Coy laughs, either oblivious to my inner turmoil or unconcerned. “I’ve had a lot of bad things said about me, but never that I was worse than glitter.”
“That’s not the worst thing I’ve said about you.”
With a harsh, matter-of-fact tone, my words are short and chopped and to the point. I’m not entertained.
It’s also clear that he is.
He runs a hand through his bedhead and graces me with a simple grin that makes people feel as if they’re getting a side of him no one else gets. It’s a damn good thing I know that’s a lie.
“How ya been, Bells? It’s been a long time.”
“By design.”
He juts out his bottom lip. “That makes me sad.”
“Coy, shut up.”
He laughs as his hair flops to his forehead again. “I’m glad you still have your moxie. I was afraid you’d actually become the basic bitch you pretend to be.”
The laughter stops, but his smile stays put.
I don’t even know why I’m surprised at this point, but I am. Maybe I hoped if we ever did encounter each other again, it would be more civil. Friendly. Less … us. Perhaps I hoped that I’d see Coy and feel more compelled to forgive him. Move on. Be less … hurt.
Clearly, that’s not the case, so there’s no point in pretending to be nice.
“I hate you, Coy Mason.”
His grin grows wider. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”
I’m done.
My blood pounds through my vessels as I turn toward the gate. I contemplate whether to take the high road or just stoop into the gutter like him.
I could share a lot of truths with that asshole if I wanted to.
Beginning with how my basic bitch switch gets flipped when he’s around as a form of self-defense. I could jump right in with how we’re only friends when it’s convenient for him.
Or I could go really low.
I could tell him that he did become everything I feared. That the boy who went to war with my dad when we were younger over the Winter Wonderland dance—getting himself grounded and unable to attend himself—had turned into a selfish, egotistical human being that doesn’t resemble the boy I used to know.
And love.
“Hey, Bells,” he calls after me.
I keep walking.
“Your ass looks great in those shorts.”
My first instinct is to tug them down. My second instinct is to flip him off.
I don’t do either and keep walking because if anything irritates Coy, it’s ignoring him.
He might be gorgeous. He may be so talented that every song he records hits the number-one spot. He may be the sweetest to his mother and a benefactor for all kinds of charities in greater Savannah—but he’s still the biggest jerk on the face of the planet.
He’s still the man who breaks promises, forgetting them in an instant. Forgetting me in an instant.
And I’m going to remember that this time.
Even if it kills me.
Three
Coy
“Missed you too, Bellamy.”
I touch my cheek, fighting a grin, as I take the steps two at a time toward my childhood bedroom. My skin is swollen and warm to the touch, but thankfully, the pain has settled down. That’s probably because I’m too distracted to focus on it much.
My lips twist in amusement as I replay my interaction with Bellamy Raquel Davenport.
“That wasn’t the worst thing I ever said about you.”
That’s the one thing that sticks out about our conversation. It’s more prominent than Bells’s shock at seeing me, the way she tried to hide a smile, and the way her voice slides over me like a well-worn hoodie.
I check out my cheek in the mirror over my dresser and replay that line in my head.
It’s a typical Bellamy thing to say to me, and one that’s probably true to some degree. Our friendship has always been one based on snark, walking a fine line between bickering and teasing. We’re two alpha personalities—oil and water in many ways. But, at the same time, we’ve always been drawn to each other. We’ve had a connection that’s hard to put my finger on since we were kids.
Bellamy has always been headstrong. Hell, the girl was suspended in seventh grade for refusing to wear a skirt while the boys got to wear pants. Her act of defiance resulted in a month-long grounding from her father … and a change in St. James’s dress code. She cut her hair when she was fifteen because her dad forbade her to do it, and Bellamy tried to join the football team because someone assumed she’d be a cheerleader. She’s a powerhouse in her own right.
And I fucking love it.
Still, her ferocity toward me seems to have leveled-up. Something about it doesn’t quite sit right with me.
Knock! Knock!
The sound catches me off guard. I turn to see Boone, the youngest of us five Mason boys, standing in the doorway.
Boone scratches the top of his head and watches me with a quirked brow.
There’s a curious glimmer in his eyes—eyes the exact color as mine. People thought we were twins growing up. Being eighteen months apart will do that to you. It didn’t help, either, that we were always together. It was me, Boone, our cousin Larissa, and her best friend … Bellamy.
Until it wasn’t.
“Did you just get up?” he asks.
“Nah, I’ve been up a while. Holt’s dumb ass woke me up about an hour ago.”
“Been up long enough to find trouble then, huh?” He grins as he walks inside my room, grabs my desk chair, and spins it around. He settles in like we’re about to have a casual conversation. “Anything interesting happen today?”
He knows Bellamy was here. I can see it in his eyes.
“Nope,” I say, fighting a grin of my own. “Just had some cereal and then contemplated the conundrums of life.”
He snorts. “Thinking about Bellamy, I see.”
“Is it that obvious?”
He laughs. “Well, the purple welt on your face would give you away if I didn’t already know. Bells texted me and threatened to break my legs because I didn’t warn her you were home.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Tell her that.”
“Ha. She’d probably break mine if I walk over there to tell her.” I glance out the window toward the Davenport’s house. “Why does that sound kind of hot?”