Текст книги "Sweet"

Автор книги: Erin McCarthy

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Seven

I didn’t expect Riley to get out of bed before noon, but there he was, in the kitchen at nine on the nose, brewing coffee and looking sexy in all his hungover scruff. He had a beard growing and dark circles under his eyes, his hair spiked out in all directions, as he shuffled barefoot in a pair of ratty jeans. No shirt of course. I was starting to think I was going to have to buy him a pack of T-shirts for my own sanity.

“What’s up?” he said, his voice sounding like he’d spent the night swallowing rocks. He gave a wet cough that made my stomach turn.

I wasn’t feeling all that fabulous, and the phlegmy sounds he was making weren’t helping. “Hey.” Flopping in a chair, I debated what to eat.

“Want some coffee?”

“No, it’s too hot for coffee.”

“It’s good for a hangover though, of which I have one.” He leaned with his elbows on the counter and rubbed his forehead aggressively. “Did I really kill a fifth of Jack?”

“Except for what you threw against the door, which wasn’t that much. So yeah, basically.” I stood back up, deciding I needed to eat something sooner rather than later. Fishing a yogurt out of the fridge, I asked, “So you don’t remember anything?” I was disappointed by that. It felt like we’d shared some kind of moment of bonding, and as stupid and lame as it sounded, I didn’t want that to be gone.

“I remember everything. I was just trying to convince myself that I really wasn’t stupid enough to drink that much.”

“Oh. Hey, it happens.”

Riley poured himself a cup of coffee and basically drank it all in one gulp. “Shit, that’s good.” He shoved himself up off the counter. “So what are we doing today? You’re the brains behind this, I’m the brawn. Just tell me what to do.”

I wished.

But practically speaking, in terms of the house, I did have a plan. “I’m going to finish cleaning up the kitchen. I bought new knobs for the cabinets, and I have some things to hang. You’re going to hang them, because I have no clue how to do that. Then we’ll tear up the carpet in the living room.”

“Alright.” He closed his eyes for a second, like he was calling up fortification. Then he snapped them back open and stood up, slapping his hand on the counter. “Let’s do this. You get what you need, I’ll get my drill and a knife to cut the carpet.”

Apparently he kept his drill and a knife in his bedroom. That struck me as more than a little weird, but maybe it was a safety issue with Easton and Jayden around. “Why don’t you keep that in the garage?” I asked as I came out of my room with the bags from the store.

“Are you kidding me? It would be stolen in ten minutes. Have you been in the garage? The only thing in there is a lawn mower that doesn’t run because someone stole the starter off it, and those old busted plastic sleds.”

“There’s a broom in there, too.” I started opening the individual plastic bags with the new brushed-nickel knobs. The eighties colonial pulls were gross and needed to go. “I found it the other day.”

“I’m sure it was happy to see the light of day since no one has used that in about a decade.” Riley was cleaning up the glass from the broken bottle with his bare hands, squatting down in a way that made his jeans drag down.

I balled up the receipt from buying the knobs and threw it at him. My aim was surprisingly good, and it landed in his butt crack before bouncing back off. “Score,” I told him, amused. No matter how sexy the guy, plumber’s crack has a way of killing the heat level.

“Hey, are you objectifying my body?” he asked, not bothering to pull up his pants.

“Yes.” I started untwisting the existing knobs, surprised at how firmly they were on there. It took me five solid minutes to get one off.

“Try this,” Riley said, opening a cabinet and showing me the back of the screw. He held the drill up and pushed something and bam, like that, the screw retreated and the knob fall off the front of the cabinet.

“Tricky,” I told him. But when he handed me the drill I could barely hold it up, let alone line the tip up to the screw. When I finally got it, I pushed the button and the kickback startled me so that I jerked back, and nothing happened. “Hm.”

Riley just watched me attempt a second time, his eyebrows raised.

“Don’t judge me,” I said when the drill fell away again with zero effect on the screw. “I’ve never held a power tool in my life.”

“It’s not a table saw. It’s a hand drill.” But he took the drill back from me. “You do something else. I’ll take these off or we’ll still be here two hours from now.”

I started to stick my tongue out at him, then remembered what had happened the last time I’d done that. So while he made fast work of knob removal, I pulled out the Sharpie I’d bought, and I went to work on the kitchen table, covering up the swear words with paislies and curlicues. I didn’t want to destroy their odd message board of sorts, but I didn’t think the social worker wanted to read about dick sucking on the table where an eleven-year-old was eating his Cheerios. Then when I was done, I put a cookie jar in the shape of the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo in the center of the table. Then I filled it with store-bought cookies.

Riley tossed the old knobs in the trash and lifted the lid, swiping a cookie. “Seriously? A cookie jar? This is the tits, Jess.”

“I guess that’s a positive thing?” I asked. “By the way, when these cookies run out, make Rory bake some more. I don’t do that.”

“So you’ve said.” He kissed the top of my head, getting crumbs in my hair. “We all have our role, babe.”

Mine, apparently, was to be his sister/mother. How in the hell did I get myself into that position? It was about as foreign to me as celibacy.

Since the kitchen was now gray, I wanted blue and yellow accents, so I had bought yellow canisters to hold flour and sugar and coffee, and after clearing every random thing that was cluttering the counter off it and shoving them in a cabinet, I arranged the containers. Then I set a pump with soap next to the sink and hung the blue and yellow towels on silver hooks that I made Riley drill into the wall. I set up a little coffee station with blue mugs and a yellow sugar bowl. Just getting rid of the weird stuff they had laying around—I mean, who needs a phone book and seventeen lighters?—it already looked better. With my accessories, it looked like while the kitchen was old, someone who gave a shit used it.

“Over a little. To the right. The right, Riley,” I said in exasperation as he shifted the art I’d bought to the left, not the right. “Show me which hand is your right.”

“Fuck you,” was his opinion. But he did shift the piece to the right. He had already given his thoughts on the peace sign made out of license plates by calling it “weirdo hippie shit” but I actually thought it gave a cool pop of color to the room. Pop of color was to design what protein was to food—it was one of the basic food groups.

It was actually mine, something I’d bought at an art festival when I was thirteen and feeling the peace symbol. My mother had thought it was a hideous piece of trash, so I had boldly displayed it in my room all through high school and had brought it to school with me knowing if I left it behind, she would toss it in the trash. I didn’t want to hang it in my dorm room, but I wanted to keep it for sentimental reasons. When I looked at it, I felt thirteen again, in love with rainbow colors and glitter and patriotism. I had a plan then to visit all fifty states with my peace symbol and blog about it.

What happened to that kid? I wondered. When did I get cynical?

But then again, maybe I hadn’t, because here I was, hanging that peace sign on the wall of a house that was Easton’s safe haven.

“This is mine, you know,” I told him. “I bought this at an art festival for twenty bucks when I was thirteen. I’m letting you borrow it, gallery style. Some day I might want to take it back.”

“Mark where you want it hung,” he said. “My arms are killing me.”

Exasperated, I took a pencil and made a mark at the top where I wanted it hung. I was sorry I’d told him anything personal. “Fine. Here.”

“Jesus, thank you,” he sighed. He set it on the floor and reached for his drill. “You have good taste, you know. It looks awesome in here, I’m not going to lie.”

“What was that?” I asked, cupping my hand to my ear, pleased with the compliment. “I didn’t hear you over the sound of the drill and your large ego.”

He efficiently drilled a screw into the wall and hung the peace sign. “I said, you have good taste. See, I can admit it. No one would guess this is the same kitchen.”

“Thank you.” I was preening. I could feel it. I couldn’t help it. I was craving his appreciation. How completely pathetic was that?

He turned and hit the button on the drill in my direction.

I shrieked. Which of course made him grin and step even closer to me.

“Stop it,” I said, unnerved by the sound and that spiraling tip pointing at me. I could lose an eye or something.

“What?” He shoved it toward my face. “What’s the matter?”

I darted away, laughing, and tripped over the garbage can. I fell against the wall and the peace sign fell. Riley caught it and hung it back up.

“Way to go, Jess. You almost killed peace.”

Before I could retort something nasty, there was a knock on the back door. Riley went and opened it, and I saw Robin was standing there, wearing short shorts and a sparkly blue tank top. I had texted her and she was there to deliver the art piece.

“Hey,” Riley said, in a voice of surprise and intrigue. “Can I help you?”

I realized that he had never met Robin. I also realized that Robin was an exotic brunette. Which made me realize that asking her to come over was a very stupid and idiotic idea.

To her credit she didn’t drool over Riley’s chest the way he was drooling over hers. She just said, “Hi, I’m Robin. Is Jessica here?”

“It’s for you,” he said over my shoulder. But without moving out of the way, he held out his hand. “I’m Riley. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Gross. I nudged him out of the way. “Hey, Robin. Come in. Riley, move your ass.”

Robin skirted him, looking curiously at me, the canvas in her hands. “I can’t stay, but here it is.”

I took the canvas and turned it around. It said YUM YUM, spelled out in candy wrappers on a gray background. It was perfect.

“I decided just paint was boring.” She gave a shrug. “It may be too cute for a house of guys, but I couldn’t resist.”

“It’s awesome,” I told her. “It goes perfectly next to the peace sign because they’re using similar mediums in similar colors. Don’t you think so, Riley?”

“Sure.” He nodded. “Though I can’t guarantee Jayden won’t pull those wrappers off hoping there is still a speck of chocolate in them.”

I scoffed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“You haven’t seen him around sugar. He inhales it like an anteater.”

While I played around with placement on the wall, Riley put his old coffee in the microwave and heated it up. “Thanks for making that, Robin,” he said. “That was really nice. And Jess and I are just going to get some lunch.”

We were?

“Do you want to come with us?”

No. Say no, I tried to mentally project to Robin. I probably would have a classic college girl meltdown if the first guy I’d been genuinely attracted to in three years hit on one of my best friends.

Fortunately, I had told Robin in my beer buzz the night before that I liked Riley. And she knew the girl code. She shook her head. “Oh, no thanks. I have to work today and I have a ton of stuff to do before that.”

Yay, Robin. I owed her a beer for that. Hell, a case of beer. “Oh, that sucks.” I paused for a beat. “But thanks, you’re awesome. I’ll text you later.” So get the F out.

She grinned at me. “You’re welcome.” She reached over and gave me a hug, which was weird, because I didn’t do hugs and she knew that. But it was a ploy to whisper in my ear. “Holy hotness. Total vag explosion.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Are you two going to make out?” Riley asked, sounding hopeful.

I looked around for something to throw at him but came up short. The room was too clean to be risking breaking anything, anyway.

“Let me walk you out,” Riley said to Robin when she moved toward the door. “I don’t want any of the neighbors getting any ideas.”

Funny how he didn’t seem to have a problem with me coming and going on my own. But there wasn’t anything I could say that wouldn’t sound insane and I couldn’t exactly follow them either. So I just stayed in the kitchen and felt bitchy. The room looked amazing, like a hundred and ten percent improvement with the new cabinet knobs and all the other touches, and yet I was discontent. Maybe my mother was right—I was never grateful.

He was gone a long time. “Do you really want lunch?” I asked when he finally came back in, smelling like smoke. “Or was that just a way to try and get Robin to hang out longer?”

“Yes, I want lunch. I’m starving. The whiskey burned a hole in my gut and I need to fill it.” He started down the hallway to his bedroom. “Your friend is cute.”

“I know,” I yelled bitterly from the doorway of the kitchen. “And she’s single,” I added, just because I was a masochist and I wanted to see his reaction to that information. And maybe because if he was going to hit on her, I just wanted to get it over with.

“That’s a shame, I guess. Unless she wants to be single, then that’s good.” He reemerged from his room, wearing an AC/DC shirt.

“I have no idea what she wants,” I said, trying for dignified but sounding more like I had a stick up my ass.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding dubious. “I think you must be hungry, too. You sound like Jayden when he’s forgotten to eat.”

I couldn’t really argue with that. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? And if you want to hook up with Robin, go for it, she has a great body.”

Now why the hell did I say that last part? It was a rookie mistake I saw girl after girl make, and I had always rolled my eyes at their naiveté. Never let your emotion dictate what comes out of your mouth. It was a lesson straight out of Guy 101. The minute you did that, you handed control over to them.

Damn it.

His eyebrows shot up. “You want me to hook up with your friend? That’s very generous of you. I appreciate you looking for a landing spot for my dick.”

“Don’t be crude,” I chastised.

“You’re the one who is suggesting I hook up with her five minutes after I met her.”

“Never mind.” I went to my room to get my purse and threw it over my head so that it dangled on my hip. I was wearing an old shirt with peanut butter and jelly high-fiving each other and basketball shorts I worked out in, but I didn’t give a shit. It wasn’t like putting on cuter clothes was going to change the outcome of this day.

“Are you jealous of your friend? Because that seems like a bad foundation for a friendship.”

“Why would I be jealous of her? And what do you know about friendship?” Verbal vomit officially commencing. I grabbed a cookie out of the Mystery Machine and crammed it in my mouth just to shut myself up.

“Apparently nothing.”

We went and got sub sandwiches, and Riley ate his footlong and half of my six-inch, along with two bags of chips and a soft drink that was roughly the size of my dorm room wastebasket.

“Do you have any pictures of your family on your phone?” I asked, an idea for the long hallway to the bedrooms popping into my head.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, like snapshots of the boys. Ones where no one is flipping off the camera.”

He grinned. “That may be a tall order.” But he dutifully pulled out his phone and started scrolling through pictures. “Here’s one of Easton on his birthday. I got him a giant cupcake.” He held it out to me.

Easton was smiling, his dark eyes shining, as he held his giant cupcake up to his mouth, about to take a bite. “That’s perfect.”

“Here’s Jayden with Rory.”

Jayden had his arm slung over Rory’s shoulder, and they both were smiling. Again, I felt a twinge of envy. “That’s cute.”

Then Riley’s smile fell off his face as he flipped through more pictures.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s my mom.” He studied the screen of his phone. “I know it sounds weird, but I do miss her in a way.” He turned the phone to me. “Maybe it’s because I remember her before the drugs, but she wasn’t a bad person. Not like my dad. He’s just a dick. But my mom was just, well, an addict.”

I thought of the picture of her in his bedroom at her prom, and I looked at the picture he was showing me. She looked shrunken, fragile, hardly any bigger than Easton, as she pulled him against her in a hug. He was making a funny face, but she was smiling, like she’d been caught in a laugh, her mouth open to show missing bottom teeth, her skin sallow. But there was genuine happiness there in her eyes.

“I understand,” I told him. “She’s your mom. I’m sure she loved all of you.”

“She did. She just couldn’t stay away from the smack. And it killed her.” He swiped past the picture. “So why did you ask, anyway?” he said, brisk, shaking more chips onto his sub wrapper.

“We can print some of those out at Walmart and hang them in the hallway. It will look great, and personal. You know, let the social worker see that you’re a real family.” I had a thought. “Let me take a close-up shot of your tattoo and we can use that one, too. It’s a tattoo that says you love each other.”

He made a face. “You make it sound so dorky.”

I laughed. “Sorry. I mean, it’s a very tough symbol indicating that you’ll kick anyone’s ass who messes with your brother. Is that better?”

“Definitely.”

By the time we got back to the house with more supplies I was already exhausted. Then we started tearing up the carpet, and I decided that I needed to find a career where I could just look pretty, because this shit was hard work.

“Oh my God,” I gasped, yanking on the piece Riley had cut that I was supposed to be rolling back. Sweat was dripping down my back, and the work gloves he’d given me kept slipping as I jerked the carpet.

“This was your idea,” he reminded me, using his boot to hold down one section while he tugged where he’d sliced with the knife.

“I was a fool.” An exhausted fool. I lay down on the filthy carpet to catch my breath.

“Man up.”

“I’m not a man.”

“I noticed.”

Well, that was something. I rolled onto my side and wished an ice-cold lemonade would appear in my hand.

“Men don’t whine as much as you do.”

Lovely. “You haven’t met my brother,” I told him.

“By the way, this is a perfect photo op,” Riley said. “You’re supposed to be rehabbing houses, right? Here you go. This way you can prove it. It might not be the exact same situation as what you told your parents, but it’s something.”

“Good call.” I dug my phone out of my bra. “Take my picture.”

“You keep your phone in your bra?” He took it from me. “Wow, this is sticky.” He wiped it on his jeans. “You might want to get off the floor if you want to look like you’re working hard.”

“Slave driver.” I peeled myself off the floor and then went back to rolling old carpet on my knees while Riley took a picture.

An hour later all the carpet was out on the front lawn for garbage pickup and we were in the midst of a dusty hell. Coughing and waving my hands in front of me, I threw open the windows, risking Riley wrath. I went over the floor with the broom to collect the piles of disintegrating carpet backing that had been left behind while Riley ripped out the boards that lined the edges of the wall, spiky nails sticking out of them. Another hour and we had mopped the floor and put the furniture back and it actually looked pretty damn good. The floor wasn’t perfect. It had grooves and scuffs in it, but it was a huge improvement over the nasty carpet, and it smelled clean and fresh.

I flopped on the couch. “I have to leave for work in thirty minutes. This is going to be a hellish night.”

“Sorry, kid.” He did look like he felt bad for me. “I can drive you to work.”

“Thanks. You’re going to take a nap when you get back, aren’t you?” I asked, feeling very envious.

“Probably not.” Then he grinned. “Okay, yeah, totally.”

But not only did he drop me off, he picked me up at eleven, when I was dragging ass. I laid my head on his shoulder and yawned while he drove.

“Poor princess,” he said, and it actually sounded sincere.

I fell asleep before we even got back to the house and didn’t wake up until he lifted me into his arms.

Whoa. For real? That woke me right up. “You don’t have to carry me,” I said. “I’m awake.” But I snuggled in closer to his chest. There might never be another moment like this to feel his body that close to mine.

“Babe, if someone is offering you a free ride, take it.”

He had a point.

“I’m too heavy,” I said, because that’s what we say as girls. We love the thought that a guy can carry us, but then we worry that he’ll start thinking with each step that you were way heavier than he expected and that maybe you should lay off the ice cream. It’s also maybe a slightly passive-aggressive way of seeking the reassurance we need. Toxic, sure, but it slipped out before I could stop myself.

But Riley didn’t play the game. There was no reassurance. He just said, “Shut up, Jessica.”

The words were harsh, but his voice wasn’t. If fact, when I looked up at him, I saw something that took my breath away.

When he set me down on the front step to open the door, I tugged down my shirt, which had ridden up, all sleepiness gone because I knew what he was considering. He wanted to kiss me.

I knew that look. It was unmistakable.

And I wanted him to kiss me more than I had any other guy who had given me that look.

“Don’t be mean,” I murmured.

He cupped my cheek with his hand and said, “The last thing I feel right now is mean.”

And despite the warm night air, I shivered in the dark, the feeble porch light glowing over us, bugs knocking into it.

“Good,” I said, and I smiled up at him.