Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
I refuse to leave my room for spring break.
Avery texts me every day with little updates and photos, and I call her while I eat dinner each night.
It takes me a day or two to admit to myself that I miss hanging out with her so much that text messages aren’t enough and I need to hear her snark and scathing commentary on the latest gossip out loud.
I’m relieved to find the Crow has fulfilled his favor and kept Senior away from home, but I’m pissed as hell that he couldn’t get Joey away too.
Avery gets to enjoy the break without worrying about her brother being subjected to violence to stop her from being murdered by their excuse of a father, but that doesn’t mean their break is entirely torment free.
The group chat is a constant stream of messages from everyone and, after Blaise calls me out for being a complete hermit, I make an effort to say something in there at least three times a day, no matter how short the message.
Avery messages me privately to laugh about it, seeing right through my careful strategy, but it means my cramming sessions aren’t being interrupted by welfare checks, so it’s a win.
Harley is not so easy, but I would be an idiot if I ever thought he would be.
He texts on the first day of the break and offers to come study with me, but I brush him off with the excuse of making the most of not having to tutor or deal with other students.
Then he says he can come over and eat dinner with me later, and we can make a drinking game out of my study cards.
Avery’s teasing pops back into my head and I shut that suggestion down fast. No matter how much fun it would be, there’s no way I can drink with him again because, last time, I couldn’t control myself and I hate how awkward I feel around him now.
He accepts it, still without making a big deal, and then he goes back to talking shit in the group chat.
The next day, he messages again. I give him the same answer and, again, he drops it without much fuss and doesn’t text me outside of the group chat after that.
I feel bad about avoiding him, but I don’t trust myself around him anymore, and I really don’t want to screw things up just because he’s temptation in human form.
Okay, that’s a little dramatic, but my track record of good decision making when it comes to him is terrible, and he might be good at keeping things casual, but I’m not. Not at all.
On the last day of the break, I’m woken by the sound of someone messing around in the kitchen.
I crawled into bed around six in the morning after pulling two all-nighters in a row, and I feel like death. I crack one eye open and turn my head just far enough to see who’s fumbling around in Avery’s cooking supplies.
Sure enough, it’s Harley.
He’s standing there in a gray sweatshirt and sweatpants, mixing something in a bowl while a pan heats up on the stove. The coffee machine is beeping and he turned the TV onto some random channel with reruns of cartoons from the 90’s.
I groan and shut my eyes, like I can stop the day from starting right now if I just pretend it’s not happening in the first place.
God, I must be getting too comfortable. Usually, I’d be up with a knife in my hand at the sound of someone in my space.
“I'm making French toast. Aves said it’s your favorite, so consider it a peace offering. I'm only good at breakfast so you're going to have to figure something out for us to have for dinner.”
Why is he here? Why is he showing up, uninvited, and forcing me to function? I just want to sleep and study and forget how terrible I am at being a real human for the day, dammit. I huff and roll over. I’m not getting up, fuck him.
“I get you’re used to being on your own, but this is the first chance I've had to spend a school break with someone since my da died. I've been trapped in boarding schools or hotels by myself ever since, and teachers really don't give a crap about orphaned mobster kids.”
Dammit.
He’s playing the sympathy card and that’s so not something he does, which means he really means what he’s saying right now and I’m the one being a heartless bitch. Dammit .
I groan again and sit up, frowning at him.
He's got his back to me as he drops the soaked bread into the pan. I can't kick him out. He's literally making me my favorite breakfast and it smells incredible. He’s being honest and kinda sweet, and, fuck it, if that’s not my kryptonite. I can force myself to function today like I’m not the walking dead if it means this much to him. Clearly, I’m getting soft.
So I get up.
I pull an oversized sweater on and accept a giant cup of coffee from Harley while I rummage around in the cabinets for syrup and sprinkles.
Harley tries to sit at the counter but I push him into sitting on the floor in front of the TV.
I put Nightmare Before Christmas on instead of the bullshit he picked out and then we argue for the entire movie.
Let's just say one of us thinks this a Christmas movie and doesn’t give a fuck that it isn't actually Christmas, and the other person is wrong.
The French toast is the best I've ever had.
I stand up to clear our plates and Harley's gaze catches on my bare legs.
That's when I realize I'm only wearing underwear and the sweatshirt. My cheeks turn scarlet and I rush to find some pants. Harley chuckles at me like we’re friends and I startle when I realize we are. Fuck, how did that happen?
When I return from the closet, Harley has grabbed a bottle of whiskey from Avery’s stash and is sitting cross-legged on the floor where I usually study with Blaise.
I freeze on the spot because this is exactly what I was worried about, but then he grins at me as he holds up a shot glass and I cave so fucking fast I should really be ashamed of myself.
I roll my eyes as I grab the shot, downing it before I join him.
He throws one back and chases it with a beer. Gross.
“Aves told me you guys swap truths. I want to give that a try.”
I arch an eyebrow at him and rub my palms on my yoga pants. “We also choose our own truths. I’m assuming you want to ask me questions?”
He nods as he refills the glasses. “We take turns asking. If you want to pass, take the shot.”
I’ll have liver poisoning in under an hour, but we’ve had such a good day I don’t want to spoil it by refusing. If I make it past ten shots I’ll bow out. I nod and he smirks at me, wolfishly.
“Ladies first.”
I snort. “There are no ladies here, just you and the Mounty trash. But fine.” I blow out a breath.
There’s plenty I want to ask him. The problem is, if I go straight to the deep stuff, he may pass or he could do the same and I’ll have to quit.
I need to stick to lighthearted stuff. “First kiss?” I tease.
He flicks the lid from his beer at me. “Lame. Some chick in fifth grade. I can’t tell you her name, I honestly don’t remember. Yours?”
Fuck. I didn’t think that through at all. I take a shot.
“You’ve got to be kidding me? How is that classified information, Mounty?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question.” I refill my shot glass so I don’t have to look at him.
“I’ll give you a freebie. You can insist I answer something if you answer this one.”
Hmm. Tempting. I could lie, but now that I’ve made a big deal out of it, he’ll guess. Maybe I’m becoming a lightweight with my booze because it’s already warming my blood. I give in.
“You. Well, one before you but I don’t count it because… well, I just don’t. Just you because I also don’t count Blaise’s pity kiss.”
It’s pretty clear Harley was expecting any answer except that.
I want to cringe away from the shocked intensity in his eyes but my stubborn pride makes me sit and endure it.
I’m trapped here until he breaks the spell, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and taking a big gulp.
Then he leans back against the coffee table and smirks at me, cocky again.
I clear my throat. “My turn. Why get a face tattoo? I know you have the chest piece, but most people fill up their arms and even their necks before getting one on their face.”
He doesn’t speak. The playful look on his face slides right off and he’s glaring down at his shot glass.
Fuck. I thought that was a pretty safe question.
At this rate, we’re going to be at each other's throats before the end of the bottle.
“I didn’t choose the tattoo. Or the placement.”
I blink at him, opening my mouth to ask him more but he cuts in, “That’s your answer. You want another question, wait your turn.” There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. I nod and wave a hand at him to take his turn.
“Worst memory?”
“Pass.” I take a shot.
He rolls his eyes. “Worst memory you're willing to tell me?”
Breaking the rules already and after he just quoted them to me, typical. I sigh and scour my brain for something. He already knows about my mom’s overdose. I can't talk about my life with the Jackal.
“What's yours?” I whisper. He looks at me and tips back the bottle of beer, draining it, before opening another.
“My da being killed. My grandfather shot him, point blank, right between the eyes. If I close my eyes I can still feel the heat of his blood hitting my face.”
I swallow.
Maybe I feel so safe with him because he’s also broken.
Be brave, Lips, if he can do it, then you can too.