Chapter 14
14
RHYS
I put my shopping basket on the ground at the grocery store just long enough to grab a frozen pizza, but when I turn back to it, something’s not right.
I’m looking at a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. In my grocery basket. Something I definitely did not put in there. If there’s one food in the world I can’t stand, it’s salt and vinegar potato chips. Everyone who knows me knows that.
I regard them blankly for a beat of time, until it hits me, and a grin carves on my mouth.
“Maddie,” I call out, looking side to side. “Where are you?”
Flutters swirl through me when I hear her bubbly giggle. She steps around a display of bread she was hiding behind, and heat laces through my bloodstream. Because holy fuck .
The first thing my eyes latch onto is the way the curve of her hips hugs the pair of black jeans she has on. She’s wearing a chambray shirt with the top button undone, revealing a glimpse of her chest, the smooth, healthy glow of her skin instantly making my cock twitch.
My cock does a lot more than twitch when my gaze finally snags onto her lips. She’s wearing lipstick, a light shade of red that accentuates the heart shape of her pretty mouth. I have to snatch up my grocery basket and hold it in front of my hips to keep the outline of my erection from showing.
I shove all the thoughts about those red lips that I shouldn’t be having out of my head. I grab the offending bag of chips and hold it up at the corner between my thumb and index finger, like I can hardly bear touching it.
“Really, Maddie?” I ask.
She laughs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice until check out.”
I slice my gaze to the chips dangling between my fingers. I shrug and drop them back into the basket. “What the hell, they can be a surprise for Lane.”
Maddie famously shares my hatred for salt and vinegar potato chips—but Lane famously loves them. In fact, they’re his favorite snack. Somehow, I’ve managed not to let it get in the way of our friendship, even though it’s a heavy indictment against his taste and judgment.
The reason a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips makes Maddie and me laugh like idiots is because of a memory from three years ago. Lane and I were back home after our freshman year at Brumehill, and the three of us drove down to the beach one weekend.
On the way back home, we were stuck in an awful traffic jam for hours. We hadn’t eaten all day, and the only thing to eat in the car was a family-sized bag of salt and vinegar potato chips that Lane had brought along. Maddie and I were so desperate to quell our rumbling stomachs that we stuffed our faces with them, groaning about how disgusting they were with every bite.
“So, what did you come here for, other than to give me traumatic flashbacks about these disgusting chips?” I ask Maddie, shifting my shopping basket to my side now that my cock has calmed down.
“Not really sure, honestly,” she says as we meander down the nearest aisle. “I’ve just kind of missed cooking now that I’m living in a dorm, and I thought that while I’m staying with you guys and your real kitchen, I’d taken advantage of it and cook something for everyone tonight. I thought I’d just wander around for a bit and see if I spot an ingredient that gives me an idea.”
As chance would have it, we happen to be passing the pasta selection. I grab a container of lasagna sheets from the shelf.
“What do you think?” I ask Maddie with a boyish grin as I bounce the box of pasta in my hands “Treat the boys to some famous Rhys and Maddie Lasagna?”
She folds her arms in front of her chest and quirks an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Don’t you mean Maddie and Rhys Lasagna?”
Another silly inside joke of ours.
Years back, I went over to her house one day looking for Lane, but he was out doing something. Maddie had recently gotten into cooking and was excited to try to make some lasagna from scratch, homemade tomato sauce and all. I helped her cook it, adding a couple interesting twists to the recipe, while waiting for Lane.
When we served up the tray to Lane and his parents, it got rave reviews. We’ve cooked it together a couple more times since.
There’s something about making a meal together with Maddie that feels so fucking good. Those are some of my favorite memories. My chest is warming just thinking about doing it again.
I scrunch up my face in response to her retort. “ Maddie and Rhys Lasagna ?” I question in a disdainful voice. “Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it. Sounds disgusting. Rhys and Maddie Lasagna, on the other hand, is well known and beloved, so let’s stick with that.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she says, turning away and walking ahead of me down the aisle. But I don’t miss the way her smile turns her cheeks red.
And I sure as hell don’t miss how fucking good her ass looks as she walks away. I’m thanking whatever muse of fashion inspired her to tuck in that shirt this morning.
A split second later, though, I’m reminding myself that I shouldn’t be salivating over my best friend’s little sister’s ass. No matter how fucking good it looks. Which is really, really good, by the way.
We walk around the grocery store, chatting about our day as we gather our ingredients.
It feels good. Just wandering around a grocery store, picking out items from the shelf, while talking with Maddie about nothing in particular.
The rest of the guys are out for a run right now after classes. I put in a lot of time on the treadmill at the gym yesterday, so I’m not in a cardio mood. I’m sure the smell of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and ground beef and sausage browning in a pan will be a welcome scent for them to come home to.
“Let me carry at least one!” Maddie pouts as I grab the handles of all four plastic bags after we check out.
“No chance,” I say with a cocky grin, pumping my arms up and down, curling the weight.
“Such a show-off,” she groans as we step through the automatic doors.
No, I haven’t grown out of wanting to show off my strength and my muscles around Maddie any chance I get.
I start curling my right arm, the one closest to her, very conspicuously. “Didn’t get quite enough pumps on this side at the gym yesterday,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
She punches me in the arm. “Cut it out, I’m already impressed,” she says jokingly.
Jokingly, but those words sure do flood my chest with a bright, warm feeling.
We walk a block in silence, just enjoying the beautiful late afternoon day in Cedar Shade where the sky is a bright, smooth blue, the trees are full of green leaves, the streets are lively, and a gentle, refreshing breeze is blowing. The whole town is still riding on that beginning of the school year high when everything feels fresh and new and loaded with promise, though some of the leaves are starting to take on a darker fringe at their edges, and a bite of chill is creeping into the night air, reminding us that autumn is around the corner.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Maddie says with a sudden tone of seriousness.
“Of course. What’s up?”
“It’s, well, like …” she haltingly begins before taking a deep breath and asking, “How can I tell if a guy’s into me or not?”
Immediately, my teeth grind together. My jaw muscles pop. My fists tighten, and the muscles in my neck and shoulders go rigid.
“A guy?” The words come to my lips unbidden, in a rough growl, and they fill my mouth with a bad taste.
I turn to her, my eyes landing on the red of her lips. Is that why she’s wearing that lipstick today? To get another guy’s attention? The thought is enough to tighten my jaw even more and send jealousy swirling through me.
She pushes out a self-conscious laugh. “I know, it’s such a middle school question to ask, right? But there’s this guy I’ve been talking to in one of my art classes.”
“Talking?” Protectiveness pricks all over me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up.
“Yeah. And sometimes I get, I don’t know, flirty vibes from him. But I’m not sure. It’s not like I’m the only girl I see him talking to and joking around with. Would a guy make it obvious if he was into a girl?”
The idea of some fuckboy stringing Maddie along and playing hot and cold with her comes into my head, and anger ignites inside me.
“He should,” I answer. “A guy worth giving a shit about wouldn’t be playing games with you. He wouldn’t make you have to wonder. You don’t need to be wasting your time with a guy who’s holding back and can’t make up his mind. If this guy was interested in you and actually worth a damn, you wouldn’t be able to confuse the way he acts around other girls with the way he acts around you.”
The idea of Maddie with any other guy eats me up, but I’m no fool. She’s beautiful, smart, interesting, funny. I know she’s focused on her studies and her art, but it’s obvious that eventually a guy is going to fall for her so hard that he makes sure she notices him, too.
I don’t think I’m going to like any guy Maddie ends up with, but I know one thing, he damn sure better be all in on her. He damn sure better make her the center of his life and treat her in a way that makes her know beyond a shadow of a doubt how much she means to him.
Just like I would.
Just like I would, if she weren’t Lane’s little sister. If we hadn’t grown up together. If she weren’t too good for me. If we didn’t have years of memories as good friends that would be ruined if I tried to cross a line that I shouldn’t even be glancing at.
“Hmm,” Maddie hums, musing over my answer.
If I think about Maddie with another guy for even a second longer, I don’t think my teeth are going to be able to take it, given the way the subject makes them grind together.
“Hey,” I say to Maddie while I tilt my head toward one of the bags. “Fish out the salt and vinegar chips.”
Her lips pucker in disgust. “Why?”
“Let’s see if we’ve suddenly developed a taste for them.”
She sticks out her tongue. “Yuck. Are you serious?”
“Hey, I remember you didn’t like mayonnaise until your junior year of high school. Sometimes tastes change.”
“I want my skepticism noted for the record.” She pulls open the bag and retrieves a big chip, holding it up and inspecting it with disdain on her face.
“You first,” she chirps, holding the chip out to me.
I dip my head to snatch a bite from her fingertips. The briny, prickly flavor soaks into my mouth, drawing a grimace. I look at Maddie and see her chewing, with a matching expression on her face.
“Sometimes tastes don’t change,” she says after forcing a swallow, her nose scrunched.
“Guess not,” I reply with a laugh. “But sometimes eating something really nasty can make for an even better memory than eating something good.”
She pushes the open bag of chips against my chest. “They’re all yours, then.”
The succulent smell of simmering garlic and onions hangs in the air as Maddie and I get to work making the sauce.
Maddie has her phone on the counter with her Spotify app open, playing a playlist I made her the summer before I went off to Brumehill, featuring some of our favorite songs that we’d listened to and recommended each other over the years.
Lived In Bars by Cat Power is playing, and we bob our heads to the rhythm as we go about our culinary tasks.
“This can opener is so rusty,” Maddie groans as she tries to open a can of crushed tomatoes. She slants her arm for leverage and torques at the handle—but she loses her grip, and the can tilts at the worst angle to send a wave of tomato water splashing over the open edge of the lid.
“Crap!” Maddie exclaims, dropping the can and looking down at the splotch of red covering her shirt and jeans.
“ Tsk, tsk, tsk ,” I click my tongue playfully. I finish opening the can. “Some people just don’t have what it takes to master the art of opening crushed tomatoes.”
Maddie flattens her lips and narrows her eyes at me. “I hate you.”
“Don’t take your lack of crushed tomato handling skills out on me,” I tease in a sing-song voice, walking over to dump the contents into the saucepan.
While I’m by the stove, I tear off a couple sheets of paper towels and hand them to Maddie. After wiping herself off, she walks to her bag of clothes in the living room that she brought along for the time she’s spending here.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I don’t have a clean shirt left!” she groans, picking up a pair of shorts. “I’ve put off doing laundry for too long. I’m gonna go up and steal one of Lane’s hoodies or something.”
I turn my attention to seasoning the sauce until I hear Maddie’s feet padding back down the stairs—and when I turn around and look at her, my jaw fucking drops.
My heart bounds against my chest. It’s like a bolt of lightning shoots up and down my spine, sending waves of electricity snaking through me, right down to my fingertips. My skin feels coated in static as time stretches out and I can’t tear my gaze from her as she stands at the bottom of the stairs.
Maddie Larsen is wearing my shirt.
It’s a white long-sleeve shirt from the high school hockey team Lane and I played on. I know it’s mine because Lane has the black version of the shirt.
It’s big on her. A strange feeling of pride beats through me. The sleeves are so long that only the very ends of her fingertips show as her arms hang by her sides. The hem falls so low that you can’t even tell she’s wearing shorts underneath. A burst of possessiveness detonates in my chest.
“You’re … wearing my shirt.” The words fall from my mouth.
She glances down. Her cheeks color, a self-conscious smile tilting on her lips. “Yeah. Lane’s door was locked. So, I thought it’d be okay if I borrowed something from your room.”
My eyes crawl up and down her bare legs. The image of grabbing the hem of that shirt and lifting it up, finding out that she’s not wearing anything underneath, flashes in my mind. My balls tighten, and I have to clench my jaw to stifle a groan.
Heavy beats of silence keep ticking past as I’m still too stunned to work my tongue into speech.
Furrows dig into Maddie’s forehead.
“Uh, if it’s not okay, I could look through Jasmine’s bag and see if she has a shirt I could wear …?”
“No!” the word erupts from my lips, way louder and sharper than I intended.
I sure as hell don’t want her to take my shirt off. After seeing this sight, I wish she could wear nothing but my clothes.
I want to see her swimming in one of my t-shirts. One of my hoodies. My jersey. The thought of my number on her chest sends raw desire slicing through me. She only ever wears her brother’s jerseys to our games …
I clear my throat, trying to gather my thoughts and step back into reality. “It’s fine. No problem. You can wear that. Keep it for as long as you need.” I’m babbling now.
“Sure. Thanks.” Maddie says, her face quizzical at my odd demeanor.
If only she knew the things running through my mind right now, the feelings that the simple sight of her in my shirt sends spiraling through me …
We make two huge trays of lasagna, and as expected none of it survives when the guys and Jasmine get back home.
All night long, it’s a struggle to keep my eyes from constantly latching onto Maddie while she’s in my shirt; and an even harder struggle to keep from dwelling on how damn perfect life would be if the girl underneath it was mine , too …