“But it ain’t near as good as this,” he says patting his backpack. My skin pricks and my eyes narrow further. He simply smirks with a raised brow as he unzips his bag and produces a paper sack from within emblazoned with Old Bayou Diner’s logo on the front.
“You didn’t,” I gasp understanding that if I know Sylas Broussard at all, he absolutely did. I watch with buggy eyes, disbelieving eyes as he fishes a slightly smashed foil wrapped sandwich and a carton of fries from the paper sack. He unfolds it taking his sweet time as he goes, prolonging my misery. His smug smile only growing wider by the second. Everything slips into slow motion as he folds a thick cut French fry into his mouth, smiling like a lunatic all the while.
“I have it on good authority that this sandwich is the best.” He nods and pats the foil wrapper. “Four different cheeeeses,” he feigns excitement, mocking what I said to him outside my work. He’s bluffing. No way is he going to eat that. The weirdo won’t even eat pizza because he hates cheese that much. He grins, peeling back the wrapper of the sandwich then promptly takes a huge bite. I watch him fight a grimace and several gagging moments as he chews. He’s tricking me. It’s a bacon sandwich or something. I lunge across the table snagging the sandwich from him, peeling the bread apart. Gooey, melted cheese. He did it. “Mmm, tastes like… victory,” he hums, swallowing hard and turning a slightly paler shade. He did it. He really did it knowing I’d given him my word and I would of course honor the deal I had made. It’s who I am—who I’ve always been.
“You’re unbelievable,” I guffaw.
“And you’re going on a date with me Saturday night,” he declares with a face-splitting smile and a wink before he promptly gulps down half of my soda in an effort to get rid of the taste of cheese no doubt.
“I see I have underestimated how desperate you can be,” I grumble the similar words we spoke at the picnic table. I slide my tray to him and drag the grilled cheese sandwich over to my side of the table then snatch my soda from his hand.
“Yes, well I have excellent motivation,” he says, volleying words right back while his eyes rake over my face. Without saying another word, we both eat our preferred meals avoiding the puzzled glances from my friends.
Chapter 9
Sylas
Chick was right. Rae is definitely different than I remember—in a whole pile of ways. In a non-creepy way, but more of a pining for the one that got away way, I’ve kept tabs on her using the internet and by keeping up with her family but Rae on TV or social media is not the one-on-one Rae. Certain things about her get lost in translation when it’s delivered through a camera lens. First of all she’s cold and closed off in a way that pisses me off sure, but it also makes me wonder what led her to become so uninviting. She’s always been a tough cookie, yes, but she was never like… this. It leaves me wracking my brain to figure out what the hell I did so wrong to make her gnash her teeth when we are in the same room.
At the rehearsal dinner she had melted in my hands. More so than she did when we were dumbass teens fumbling around with each other’s bodies trying to sort out what the hell intimacy should be like. She felt so amazing against me in that narrow hallway at The Blue Oyster. God, she felt like home then she went right back to frigid the minute I asked a simple question. She seized up on me and turned the bitch thing way up. She always was feisty, but this isn’t feisty this is furious.
She’s successful as hell and despite our history, I’m damn proud of her, still I can’t help feeling like my best friend died and it breaks my heart all over again. What I’d give to have my Rae back. This version is impressive and tempting, but she’s not the girl I fell for. Now Rae is all class and cash in her tight designer threads and fuck me heels. And speaking of… Amongst all the changes I’ve noticed one of them is impossible to miss. Those subtle curves she had when we were seventeen—those curves that only hinted at the woman she would one day be—yeah, those curves lied. Those curves played coy and made me believe that while she had a woman’s body it was not overtly sexy and probably never would be. She was an average girl, athletic with toned muscles and a conservative shape.
The woman I had pressed against my body last night makes seventeen-year-old Rae look like a ten-year-old boy. The same body turned to sex on legs. The same body I’ve had on my arm off and on all evening for wedding photos and the actual ceremony, that woman is a certified bombshell, a centerfold. She’s definitely overtly sexy now. The girl whose body I held in my shaky hands as a teen had slight hips that were only marginally flared. Now, those same hips and ass are generous and full and force her to walk with a natural sway that leaves people gawking.
On that subject, if Chick doesn’t stop staring at Rae, I’ll gut him like a pig fit for the spit. I slap the back of my hand hard against his chest and he splutters forward laughing around the neck of his beer bottle. “Knock it off fucker,” I growl. He raises one hand in mock surrender.
“Don’t worry I’m not tryin’ to steal your girl. I was, after all, the one who called to tell you she was passed out, drooling on my couch right?”
“Yeah, yeah, I owe you,” I mutter without taking my eyes off Rae dancing with her dad. “But if you don’t stop eye fucking her, best friend or not, I’ll make you wish you had.”
“Can you blame me though?” he asks lightheartedly and gives a disbelieving shake of his head. “I should have taken her to Junior High prom, dammit.” He says quietly.
“No way was that going to happen,” I scoff.
“Yeah well, you can’t blame me for staring.” And he’s right; I can’t blame him at all. Hell, every set of eyes in this room has followed her around the place, admiring her look, her style, her class and refined grace like she’s some kind of alien. She’s a goddamn new Lamborghini in a salvage yard. It’s hard to believe she used to be one of us—one of Palmetto’s own. If she knows she’s the focus of everyone around her, she doesn’t seem to notice or behave any differently. Or maybe she’s just gotten that damn good at acting or hell maybe I just don’t know my girl like I did back then. That thought makes a stab of pain zip through my gut like a gunshot.
How the hell did we end up like this?
I need to get her alone again to ask her the questions that have been burning a hole in my brain for the last decade. Thankfully my mom and her mom already have that sorted out on my behalf. When all else fails, ask Rae’s momma. She never could tell me no and I truly could use Rae’s expertise. A little professional help is the least she can do after ripping my heart out and tossing it in a wood chipper.
“Want another?” Chick asks snapping me out of my thoughts even if only for a moment.
“Yeah, thanks man,” I nod at Chick.
Rae’s dad twirls her and her face lights up like I remember. But she not only looks different, she acts different, smells different, just is different. I have to entertain the possibility that maybe I don’t know her anymore but my gut tells me not everything about Rae is genuine. I think my girl is blowing smoke up everyone’s ass and I’m determined to find out why and what she’s hiding from the world. I don’t even know if I can tolerate who she has become for long but I plan to find out.