“Shit, yeah.” He dons a sexy grin for Eva. “Another time, little lady. Later, J.”
He jogs to the car, and her stance loosens and shoulders drop now that it’s just the two of us.
“Wait here one second.” She dashes inside, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, and I fight to keep a silly grin from my face.
With a bag of potato chips in one hand and a plastic container no bigger than a box of cookies in the other, she perches on the front step, motioning for me to sit. I do so, sure to leave space between us, and she pops a salty chip into her mouth.
“So how do you know Ike?”
My stomach tightens. Here begins the barrage of questions. I shove a handful of chips into my mouth, chunks flying with each word.
“He’s a friend.”
“Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full.” She wrinkles her nose and laughs. “Don’t you have any manners?” I stiffen and she catches my glower. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“Forget about it.”
She hands me the bag as a peace offering, and I grab at it, starved. “Ike doesn’t live with the Garcias, so how do you know him?”
“He’s a friend.”
Arching a brow, she stares as if to say, you said that, what else do you have?
We find ourselves in a staring contest, neither daring to blink or look away. She’s the first to break.
“You don’t want to talk about Ike, do you?”
“What’s with the asshole you were playing tag with?” Two can play at this game, and I take control of the conversation.
I’d been sitting on this for a while. Who fucking plays tag? She swallows hard, and by the grimace overshadowing her delicate features, it’s as if glass is stuck in her throat. I’m a jerk.
“Eva. Answer me.”
“He likes to torment people. Don’t worry about him.”
“He’s a bully.” My guess, he likes her and knows no other way of relating to her. “It stops today.” My command, protective and determined, surprises me.
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Really? Just because you say so, you think it’ll stop.” She purses her lips and I nod. “That’s the way he is. If it isn’t me, it’ll be someone else.”
“I don’t care about someone else.” The words no sooner leave my lips than I want to take them back.
Her eyes widen and cheeks flush. “That’s kind of you, but you can’t be with me all the time. He hangs out with our friends. He’s hard to avoid.”
“Well, maybe you need new friends. I could be your friend.”
What the hell am I doing? We can’t be friends. I don’t need her to be my friend. Something tells me she’s more trouble than she’s worth. I have enough trouble.
And even as regret stews inside me at my stupid offer, I’m not sure I can handle her rejection. Why is she taking so long to respond?
Dark eyes flick to my face, now inquisitive and hypnotic. “I’d like to be your friend. But I don’t need a babysitter. I can take care of myself.”
“Sure, I can see that.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to add to my sarcasm, remind her of how well she handled things when the jerk shoved her to the ground.
A slight smile coasts along her mouth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. We stare at each other and she nibbles on her bottom lip, her gaze never straying from mine, silently inviting or challenging me.
“So if we’re friends, does this mean I can hang with you at the park?” She smirks, and I press my lips together. The park is where I go to be alone. To feel safe.
She comes at me another way. “So how do you know Ike?”
This again.
Releasing a harsh, exasperated breath, I run a hand through my thick hair for something to say. I want this over with. “He’s my best friend. We go way back. I met him in foster care.”
We’ve had each other’s backs since day one, sizing each other up in a blink of an eye. We had to. I was nine and the Maclean kid—the foster home we were in—was out for blood and threatened to beat one of us. He was big—bigger than me. But no match for the both of us.
Without any conversation, we teamed up against Peter Maclean. He never stood a chance, and we’ve been friends ever since.
“Is he at another foster home? What school does he go to?”
Grateful to be outside and have many things to look at, I peer down the street, wondering if there’s a painless way to avoid her questions. There’s a girl headed our way and she looks familiar, like Eva but different.
“Nah. He’s out.”
“Oh.” Sensing my unease, her fingers lightly graze my hand, resting on my thigh, and a thrilling jolt shoots up my spine. “So he’s eighteen?”
“Nope.” I press my lips together.
This conversation is done, and through the corner of my eye, I see her cheeks flush and she dips her head. “You don’t like talking about him, do you?”
I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s her tone or the innocent way she bats her lashes, looking so open and pure, but whatever the fuck it is, I start talking.
“It isn’t that. It’s just…you can’t tell anyone.”
“I promise.”
“Ike’s a couple years older.” I don’t clarify he’s technically still a minor, even if he’s a few months short of eighteen.
Eva’s promised not to say anything, but I’m not sure I can trust her. She could snitch to her parents or the Garcias or shit, even the school.
“He hit the streets after his last run-in with the police.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s a runaway? Aren’t they looking for him?”
I shrug. There’s so much more I could say but she wouldn’t understand that fortunately or not, depending on how you look at it, the system is overrun with kids and pitifully short on social workers and other resources.
They tried to find Ike but couldn’t, and if they’re still looking, their means are slim and stretched. And more than likely, someone’s figured out Ike will be of legal age soon and given up the search. Eva can’t possibly understand any of this shitty life. Her life is perfect.
“Jared.” Bianca runs up the driveway, launching herself into my lap.
I tumble off the step, now sprawled on my ass with a girl on top of me. My fingers dig into the brittle grass to steady myself and because I refuse to touch her.
Laughing, she’s all arms and legs and tits in my face. I shove her off me and bound to my feet. Surprisingly, she slides into a more seductive pose on the ground, chest out, legs bent, and hand on her hip.
Eva blooms red like a strawberry, sitting ramrod straight and averting her gaze. She stares at the ground.
“What the hell was that?” I brush at the dirt on my jeans, flicking my hair from my face.
“I’m excited to see you.” Bianca beams, holding out a hand, expecting me to help her up.
I don’t.
Growling, I step back a few, putting more distance between us. What is it with this girl?
She’s Tito’s girlfriend. He’s a year ahead of me and the lead singer in a local rock band. We met the first week of school and bonded over music. It turned out his band needed a guitarist, and I needed something to fill my time, away from the Garcias.