That and his broad shoulders, wide chest and too-handsome face.
I nod at the SUV. “Stealing your brother’s car?”
“Borrowing it while mine is being serviced. Contrary to popular belief,” he says in his silky, smooth tone, “I don’t want everything that belongs to my brother.” He edges closer, his voice low and intimate. “Especially not after I’ve already had it.”
My head snaps back. Yep. Max Constable is definitely the biggest dick in the world.
He looks up, free of care or guilt. Must be nice, not having a conscience. “Hey. You ready?”
And I know without turning that Sam is behind me.
I can’t face him. It ticks me off that I’m such a coward I can’t even look at Sam for fear he’ll see the truth on my face. Or worse, that I’ll see something in his eyes, in his expression that tells me he heard what his brother said.
That he knows what it means.
So, nope, not looking at Sam. Going to keep my gaze right where it is, on the ground. Huh. What do you know? There’re grass clippings on my boots. Better brush them off right away.
I do, taking my time, even as I feel Sam watching me. Finally, he says, “Yeah. I’m ready.”
But he doesn’t move, and from my vantage point, I see him shift his weight from foot to foot. I hold my breath, wait for him to offer me a ride home like he did yesterday. And wouldn’t that be a boatload of awkwardness? Me in a car with Sam and Max Constable. God, just the thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.
Or that could be all the blood rushing to my head.
“Were you waiting for me, Hadley?” Sam asks.
“Nope,” I say, still brushing, brushing, brushing at my boots with my fingertips. “Not waiting for you.”
I’m wondering if I can stay down here forever—or at least until they leave—but I’ve pretty much gotten the boots as clean as they’re going to get without a scrub brush and a hose and yet the brothers are still here.
“Hot Hadley came over to say hi to me,” Max says, like the smug douchebag he is.
I jerk upright fast, too fast, and sway.
Both brothers reach out to steady me, Sam taking my left elbow, Max wrapping his hand around my upper right arm. And I have the stupid, irrational thought that one good yank and I’ll be torn in two.
I shake them both off and step back, but though I’m no longer between them, I still feel stuck. Trapped with a grinning Max on one side and a solemn, watchful Sam on the other. They’re so similar with their dark hair and eyes, their straight noses and the shape of their mouths. But there are differences, too. Subtle ones in their appearances. Overt ones, bigger ones, in their personalities.
Important ones.
Max’s hair is a shade darker, his eyes more hazel than brown. Sam is an inch taller and a bit leaner. Max has a shallow dimple to the left of his mouth and there’s a slight bump in Sam’s nose from when he broke it during a basketball game in eighth grade.
They’re both popular and well-liked, athletic and smart, but Max is more outgoing and loves being the center of attention. Sam is less showy. Friendlier. But the biggest difference between them is that Max has an edge, a sharpness to him that draws girls to him like a magnet.
They all think they can change him.
What they really want is for him to love them enough to change for them.
Good luck with that.
Max’s phone buzzes and he checks it. “See you later, Hot Hadley.”
He climbs back behind the wheel and rolls the window up. A moment later the muted sound of Frank Ocean surrounds us. Sam is watching me, waiting for me to say…something. A confirmation of Max’s claim? A denial?
Who knows? Boys are weird and mysterious creatures.
Since I’m not talking, Sam gives me a nod—an all-encompassing boy gesture for yes, hello, what’s up? and goodbye—and gets in the passenger side.
A moment later Max pulls up next to me as I head toward my bike and rolls down his window. “I almost forgot to tell you; Beemer’s having a party tonight. Sort of a welcome home for me and Sammy. You should come. No offense, Had, but you look like you could use a little fun.”
Why do people say no offense when they’re purposely trying to offend you?
Glancing at him, I keep walking. “Shows what you know. My life is one endless joyride.”
He smiles and it’s different than the other times. More open. Real. He’s only a year older than Sam and me and I remember when we were younger. Chubby and goofy, Max spent most of his time entertaining the other kids, making sure everyone liked him. He was fun and funny and, as hard as it is to believe now, nice.
Then puberty set in and Max grew taller, started working out more, and suddenly, he went from class clown to class heartthrob. He became That Guy. You know, good-looking, confident and cocky, but also a bit lost.
The most enticing combination ever.
Ah, adolescence. The end of many of a perfectly decent boy.
“I bet you’ll have a great time,” Max says, trying to sell me on going. He turns to Sam. “Tell her she’ll have a great time.”
He doesn’t even look at me. “She doesn’t want to go.”
“Sure she does,” Max argues.
“No,” I say, stopping because walking and talking wasn’t working for me. Maybe the movement interfered with how clearly and concisely I enunciated. “She doesn’t.”
But the word no isn’t one Max hears very often. “If it’s because you don’t have a ride, no problem. I’ll pick you up.”
Sam’s expression darkens, his jaw works but he keeps silent. Doesn’t look our way.
“At least think about it,” Max continues when I don’t jump at the chance at arriving to the party on his arm.
“It’ll be hard to think of anything else. After all, it’s not every day I get invited to a party by the great Maxwell Constable. What a treat for little ol’ me. Wait until all my friends hear. They’ll be so jealous.”
“Ha! Now I know you’re joking.”
I wrinkle my nose. “The part about you being great gave it away, huh?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. It was the part about you having friends.”
With that and a salute, he takes off, dust billowing behind the tires.
Leaving me standing in the middle of the parking lot, an odd ache in my chest.
Max knows just what to say to inflict the most damage.
The truth usually does.
8
“How about Beauty and the Beast?” I ask Taylor that night, holding up the DVD and giving it a little wiggle, you know, to make it more enticing and all. “It has a talking teapot,” I continue, my tone indicating there’s nothing better than—and not the least bit terrifying about—inanimate objects walking and chatting amongst us. “And there’s singing. Lots and lots of singing.”
“No, Haddy,” Taylor says, her little face scrunched into a frown, and God help us all, even the scowl is cute on her. Especially with her being fresh from her bath, her hair curling into ringlets, her pajamas a cute pink-and-white-polka-dot short set. “The beast is bad.”
I feel desperation take hold. I have to come out ahead in this battle of wills. Have. To.