13. Bay
THIRTEEN
bay
Ellie is wiggling her fingers, admiring the fresh coat of purple polish on her nails as we amble out of a local salon, owned by one of our neighbors down the street. I’m actually flattered that she wanted to go. Peter—her little love interest—asked her out to lunch, and instead, she came out with Mae and me for a manicure.
In need of some desperate girl time, my sisters are what’s driving me to realize how important the next few weeks are going to be. They’re going to shift the way everything we know has always been into something peaceful, and less unnerving for everyone and their mom in South Shore.
“Bay?” Ellie’s voice hits my back as I direct Mae by her shoulders toward my left to keep away from the two-lane road. “Can I go to a party this week?”
“When?” I glimpse over my shoulder, finding her smooth over her nails with her thumb nervously. Sign number one, I’m not going to like her answer.
And she’s hesitant for a few seconds to give it to me.
“Thursday.”
My brows pinch. “Why Thursday?”
Why ask stupid questions? These are dumbass kids.
You were a dumbass kid a few years ago, like hardcore. Your ex-boyfriend was part of a gang.
“JV softball game.” I inwardly groan, and probably from the expression on my face, she’s privy to my answer already because she’s quick to retort and run up to my side. “Bay, it’s a big one.”
“How? It’s high school.”
“It’s going to determine if we go into the playoffs .” I hold back a snort. The coaching staff at Beachline Pier High School sucks balls. “And Peter is playing.”
“Can’t you just go to the game? You have school the next day.”
“School’s almost over for the summer. And Peter really wants me to go.”
I’m sure he does.
High school party equals beer, drugs, and sex. All things I took part of myself as a teenager and would never wish for my little sister to even know about.
“You can go to the game, but Ellie?—”
“Bay, please .”
Fuck me, man.
“I’ll talk to Dad,” I offer up. I’m done with this whole sister-parenting thing already. It’s the back-and-forth for me. I hate repeating myself; it drives me nuts.
“He’s going to say no.”
Okay, well, there’s your answer.
“How long are we talkin’ you being out, dude?” I meet her somber blue eyes and lack of a response.
I’m not stupid.
The time isn’t going to be something that’s going to fly. I’ve done this rodeo a million times, got told fuck no, and still went out. No wonder Dad suffered from a stroke. I gave him over a hundred mini ones over the last six years.
“Might want to revise that answer.”
Ellie looks heavenward, a whole fifteen-year-old’s exasperation playing out before me, but I’d rather deal with that than my life-drama bullshit.
“Bay, I’m hungry.” Another constant statement comes from the little eight-year-old garbage disposal on my other side.
Spotting a hot dog stand, I point at it. “How about some dogs?”
“No.” Mae doesn’t even spare it a glance. “I want cereal.”
My nostrils flared, I feel as though I live in an alternate universe sometimes. Mae polished off the last of the cereal this morning before school. Even asked me to throw it on the grocery list, but it’s as though that never happened.
“Don’t have any,” I remind her. “How about?—”
“McQueen!” My heart plows into my chest at the sound of that familiar voice from behind. My brain calculates my surroundings, who’s with me, more questions, fuck my life, everyone.
Fuck me.
Turning around—because Reeve will hunt me down this damn sidewalk—I don’t have anything creatively to say or come up with to keep this conversation short and sweet.
Not that it would work.
Reeve’s smile is the first thing I see.
That fucking smile.
Shit should be illegal, not that it’d matter. He’d still flaunt it. He understands the power behind it. And he doesn’t need a cape or the ability to fly because that damn thing will melt you right down to your panties, into a puddle of nothing but hopes and fantasies of how fast and hard he’d fuck you.
“Ladies,” he greets my sisters, still bearing that swoony grin. He’s in a light blue tee that has the band Heatwave on it and sweatpants that have me looking a little too closely. “Where are you all heading off to?”
“Home,” I deadpan, forcing myself to capture his gaze again, silently throwing out a warning to tread very lightly on what he’s doing right now.
He notices Ellie and nods at her. “Get your nails done?”
“Y-yeah,” she replies nervously, poor thing. He offers her that award-winning grin and flicks his sun-filled hazels back to me. Except they quickly drift in a quick assessment—my neck, where Levi grabbed me, my face to where he hit me, proceeding down to the rest of my body.
“You girls wanna head into Sweetie’s and grab some candy for girl’s night?” I ask my sisters, thankful that Reeve stopped us literally right in front of the entrance.
Mae’s already at the door in record time, needing zero more coaxing from my ass. Ellie follows, sparing another glance at Reeve from my peripheral, to which I offer her my own casual smile. “Be there in a minute. Grab my candy.”
My sisters disappear in the shop, and Reeve takes the opportunity to ease closer, manufacturing hundreds of goosebumps to line my skin. “I had to see you.”
Steering my focus back to him, that same award-winning smile has already weakened, and this new side of Reeve isn’t one I can say I particularly enjoy seeing.
I expect it from Torin, as his glower is legendary at this point. But Reeve makes up for it by brightening it up.
Again, I’ve relied on the shit.
“Why didn’t you get your nails done?” I raise a brow, and he gives a slight shake of his head with a sigh treading right after it. “You always just think of everyone else but yourself, baby?”
“I can paint my own nails.”
“That’s not the point,” he retorts softly, strands of blond hair wafting softly around from the light breeze. “The point is that you need to take care of yourself.” I don’t respond because he’s right. I just don’t spend the time, nor do I seem to be able to find the energy. “You’ve been on my mind, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“You could’ve just texted—” His face scrunches, because he has texted me. I just haven’t chosen to respond, so I offer up, “I’ve been busy.”
“Good.” He shoves his hands into the cotton pockets of his sweats. “How are you feeling?”
“Annoyed.”
He doesn’t flinch or give away how he feels about that answer. “Better than upset. Have you heard from him?”
I tsk because, yeah, I have, like an hour ago.
And this is weird.
The whole lying and not seeing my best friend just because. Add on that I’m chalking it up to the guy who always has my back when he doesn’t need to and I feel like a piece of shit.
“You’re better off,” Reeve points out, as if I needed his opinion on the matter. “You belong with me anyway.”
My eyes spin on their own cognizance. “Haven’t we been through this? I don’t want you caught in the crossfire again.”
“We have. However, it’s like school, baby. I need to keep ramming it into your head until you start picking it up.”
“I hate school.”
“Why is it hard?” It’s only difficult because of the constant bills and everything else going on.
I shake my head and then give a slight shrug. “Depends on the class.”
“And you have your hands tied, to which, I won’t hold you any longer.” He wipes out a foot of space between us, encasing me in his existing gaze that holds so much promise and words of guilt. “Hold your head up, McQueen. The sun’s going to come out soon.”
“Will you keep the clouds away?” I counter, causing him to frown before recognition dawns on his face.
Torin.
“Easier said than done,” he emits. “Wildes isn’t used to liking someone.”
I hum my skepticism. These boys…I’m striding onto their turf with my so-called right to the throne. And maybe Reeve holds the key to what they’re all about, as far as their plans with the Forsaken Crew. If everything goes right, Emilio will be dead. Ramsey, I’m allowing Levi to handle that too. I didn’t sign up to spill blood, but to be the little rat that gets the big, bad cat inside the house.
However, Torin is my biggest obstacle, because I’m not entirely sure how he’s going to feel about being fatherless.
“I’d kiss you,” Reeve wields like a jagged sword, but the fucked-up thing is that I want to be cut again. I want to feel the slices of his tongue and arch into the painful pleasure of trying to keep myself impassive, but that’s impossible.
It’s unachievable, point-blank.
Reeve is my blind spot.
“However,” he continues. “Prying eyes and all that. Your sister hasn’t stopped looking over at us.”
“Good job,” I half tease, half scold. “Now I have to explain you .”
“Not for much longer,” he vows, that easy simper playing along those lips again and seeding an unruly shiver to cast over my frame. “But, for now, just imagine my lips on yours…my tongue slowly sliding into that pretty little mouth.” His russet greens fall directly to them. “And how I’d cup your hip just so…hinting to the fact of how much I’d want to hold them while I’m driving into you.”
I feel my cheeks flush, but I refuse to look away. “Reeve…”
He cocks his head slowly to the side as if he’s as innocent as a young child. “Bay…” Those eyes glimmer in mischief, fully aware I can’t be fooled. “Don’t worry, I won’t keep you waiting too long. I’m not sure how much longer I can take it anyway.”
Stepping away from me, he salutes me with two fingers over his forehead before turning away. “Text me back if you want me to tell you more. I have thousands of scenarios residing in my head.”
And he did, in his own non-sexual way.
Because when I get home, there are five different pizzas on the porch and a bouquet of yellow roses with the card signed Reevie.
I might be playing a game right now.
But Reeve’s playing to win.