Chapter Three
I loved these events.
Probably because I didn’t have many opportunities to wear a blazer or a bow tie. I liked how it made me feel.
Like I had my shit together for once, as though I wasn’t stumbling through life without a plan or a care in the world, simultaneously stressing my parents the fuck out because I was their directionless, almost twenty-three-year-old son. I wasn’t entirely aimless, though. I didn’t sleep my days away, and I remained gainfully employed. I just wasn’t sure commercial construction was what I wanted to do forever.
Plus, I had a known fear of heights, so it limited how useful I could be on an active construction site once the scaffolding was up. But no one poured concrete the way I did.
John had said so himself.
But the suit felt incomparable to the heaviness of steel-toed boots, durable cargo pants that made my balls chafe under my boxer briefs, and quilted plaid jackets with thick fleece lining.
Futzing in the interior pocket of my blazer, I dug out the unopened pack of Lucky Strikes and reveled in the pleasure of unwrapping the plastic, the cellophane crinkling when I shoved it back into my pocket. The snow had stopped falling a little while ago, leaving a soft dusting on every untouched surface. It was quiet out in the wintery back garden, peaceful even, despite the frigid January temperatures and the fact that I could see my breath in every exhale.
Well, mostly quiet.
The two chuckleheads I’d known for forty percent of my life to my left were laughing their asses off over who the hell knew what.
“How much have you both had to drink?” I asked, my stare flitting between Sean and Dougie.
“Enough that I’m gonna feel it in the morning,” Dougie volunteered in a slight slur. He tipped the bottle my way in a “cheers” motion, the liquid sloshing forward, running over his thick grip and dripping to the ground, soiling the snow.
The red-rimmed and heavily lidded idiot hadn’t noticed what he’d done.
“I dunno,” Sean admitted, staring at the green bottle dwarfed in his grip. He’d shredded the label off, leaving a wet, icy pile on the cast-iron table. His legs extended out in front of him where he sat, bottle roosted on his thigh while he stared off into space. “Enough to take my mind off things.”
Ah. “Girl problems?” I inquired knowingly, bringing the packet closer to my mouth and fishing a cigarette out with my lips.
Sobering, Sean replied absently, “Something like that.”
Dougie snorted. He gestured with his thumb. “This one’s problem is he picks the troubled ones.”
Sean scowled at him. “Francesca isn’t troubled,” he argued. “She’s…” he tried to come up with the words, deflating in his seat, mumbling out, “She wants to get married.”
Married? I grimaced. “You’re too young for that,” I observed around the unlit cigarette pinched between my lips, tossing the packet to the table.
Hell, I was too young for that, and I was three years older than them. This was the nineties. We didn’t need to rush off to the altar anymore. We could take our time figuring out who we were, what we desired out of life, out of a spouse, without the fear of our family bloodline dying out, needing a boatload of kids ASAP to till the earth on our farms, or to fish. Wasn’t that partially why our families had moved to the U.S. to begin with? To provide the next generation with better choices?
“Exactly,” Sean grumbled. “I want to finish up with school first.” He was in a culinary arts program. He dreamed of being a chef. In that respect, he was one step ahead of me on the life-plan front. “Maybe move to Europe for a bit and continue training.” Sean pressed his thumbnail against the bottle. “Hell, I’d bring Francesca with me.” The way he said it created the impression they’d had this conversation before because he knew exactly what he craved in life and was willing to write her into the plan, too. “We’d come back here after a couple of years.” He scraped an open palm over his unshaven face. “And then ” —he frowned, his pause full—“ then I’d be open to having that conversation.”
There was an unspoken “but” somewhere. “But?”
“ But she’s breaking my balls about this.” He stared at his beer bottle, lost in thought. “I don’t want to lose her.” Sean’s punched exhale billowed out in a cloud of hot vapor. “As it is, she didn’t show up tonight because ‘she’s not family.’ ”
Hooking my ankle against my knee, I got as comfortable as I could against the bone-chilling cold cast-iron garden chair I’d uncovered under a tarp. “Do you love her?” I prompted, finding the Zippo lighter in my other pocket and giving it a shake.
Sean faltered. “Yeah.” He’d had to think about it. Yikes . “We’ve been dating for two years.”
Time wasn’t the thing you used to measure whether you loved someone. You either did or you didn’t, and he didn’t sound convinced.
“Using lines like ‘I’m not family’ is a shitty manipulation tactic,” Dougie said. I winced, darting him a commiserating look he returned as he motioned between us. “’Cause neither are we, and we’re here.”
So was the rest of my family.
“I know,” Sean replied. His face said he didn’t really want to hear it. It almost seemed like he was more upset by the realization he wasn’t sure he loved his girl rather than he was about her absence.
“She’s nuts,” Dougie declared flatly. “You know she is.”
The vein along the side of Sean’s temple throbbed. “Can it, Patterson,” he growled out, his Bristol County accent deepening. “You don’t know when to step off.”
Dougie threw his head back with a sarcastic laugh. “You know I’m right. Every girl you’ve dated since your balls dropped has had the same MO.”
“Which is?” Sean asked, not a trace of amusement to be found in his sharp, hard-set features.
“This oughta be good,” I mused.
Dougie rubbed his thumb against his middle and index finger together in a money gesture, the calluses rasping together. “They know about the business.”
“My dad’s got a business,” Sean corrected, his hackles rising. “Only thing I’ve got is ambition and an almost completed degree.”
Dougie wasn’t dropping the issue. “But you will inherit a portion of that dough someday.”
“That’s dark, Dougie,” I said, working the spark wheel on the lighter and shielding the flame with my hand. John Tavares would outlive the Grim Reaper.
“Call it what you will.” Dougie shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t want to see him get taken advantage of by anyone trying to force him into something he’s clearly not ready for.” His expression softened, meeting Sean’s gaze with genuine concern. “Bullshit aside, you’re my best friend, and I’m sick and tired of watching you get played by these girls. Yeah, you think you love her, but how much does she really love you if she’s bailing on you and not showing up at the stuff that’s important to you? The shit that actually matters.”
Sean swallowed tightly, averting his gaze.
Time to get him out of the hot seat.
Training my focus on Dougie, I took a long drag from the cigarette, expelling a plume of smoke from the corner of my mouth with control. “And you,” I instigated. “What’s your deal?”
I worked with Sean’s dad full time, but these days, it was rare I had the opportunity to shoot the shit with these two in tandem. School kept Sean busy, so he was only around when he had a break, and Dougie was in between three different jobs, picking up shifts wherever he could. He worked with me and the rest of Sean’s dad’s crew a couple of days a week when he wasn’t delivering pizzas—the tips were apparently half decent, especially from office workers—or working nights with his mom at the packaging plant.
“ My deal?” Dougie echoed, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“Yeah.” I flicked the ash from the cigarette to the cold ground and it hissed audibly on contact. “You’re riding his ass, but I’ll bet you’ve got girl problems, too.”
The humor vanished from his face, and he scratched the back of his neck, cheeks shading with pink. “Not really.”
“Bullshit,” Sean coughed into his fist.
Dougie scowled at him.
“Well?” I pressed.
Defeated and a little vulnerable, Dougie sighed. “I set my sights high.”
Oh, brother. Still? He didn’t know when to cut his losses. “Don’t tell me you’re still pining over her .” She’d broken his nose a few years ago to really drive the message home that she wasn’t remotely interested in him or his shitty two-can-dine coupons.
How much clearer did she need to make herself?
“I can’t help it. I date a fuck ton, but I still compare everyone to her,” Dougie confessed, tipping his head skyward like he was trying to negotiate with God or whatever higher power would lend him their ear. “She’s?—”
“ My sister,” Sean groused, uncomfortable. He narrowed his eyes in warning. “So choose your next words wisely.”
“…Perfect,” Dougie finished. He wouldn’t have dared to degrade the formidable Maria Tavares. “She’s fucking perfect, Sean. I know you don’t like to hear it, but she is.”
There was no denying Maria was conventionally attractive—I had eyes—but detached and haughty were better-suited adjectives for her.
Sean’s face pinched with repulsion. He redirected his attention my way, hitting me with a can-you-believe-this-shit glance before it was quickly replaced by a regretful frown because he’d recalled something he didn’t like.
I cringed, looking elsewhere.
Made two of us.
During the summer of ’93, I’d made the mistake of going to first base with Maria in her basement, Basic Instinct on video in the background, while her brother and Dougie played Mortal Kombat on the SNES upstairs. I could blame it on underestimating the strength of the shitty-tasting joint I’d smoked with her behind the workshop barn behind her house. Or it was the consequences of being eighteen, horny, and goddamn stupid.
My common sense returned to me when she moved for second base, attempting to slip her hand past the waistband of my jeans, and I stopped her despite the twitching protests from my dick. Reciprocating her kiss was already unforgivable, pulling her into my lap to grind against her, worse, but fucking her?
I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. The guilt was too much. I confessed less than two hours later after I’d sobered up. Sean had been understandably awkward about it, and Dougie hadn’t spoken to me for six months. Rightfully so. It was the shittiest thing I’d ever done to someone. Teenage hormones or not, I still felt terrible about it five years later.
Our parents had held onto hope Maria and I would marry each other when we grew up. I supposed that had been what had sparked her short-lived curiosity and inspired me to reciprocate it with equal fervor.
Unfortunately for them, Maria and my interest in each other was virtually nonexistent. There was no spark between us.
My lack of clear direction in life bothered her, and she’d never pretended otherwise. She knew she was going to be a lawyer by the time she was twelve and had done everything in her power to ensure she would make it happen.
I didn’t have a plan, and Maria had nothing but plans.
Plus, I wanted to get married— eventually —and that word gave her hives.
So yeah, all wrong.
But so was the prospect of her and Dougie. While he could appreciate the surface-level shit, her beautiful shell, admire her brain, and rub his dick raw to thoughts of her, I wasn’t sure he really understood what he felt for her beyond that, which worried me.
He deserved to be with someone who saw him and only him.
“My sister’s never going to date you, so give it a rest,” Sean proclaimed, clapping a pitying hand on Dougie’s shoulder as he sank into the chair next to his. “Consider this a bullet dodged.”
Dougie sniffled, the winter air making his nose run. The cold tip of the twisted bridge had turned a brilliant shade of red. “Wish it was that easy,” he murmured.
As if Dougie had manifested her, the hinges on the door squeaked, and Maria stepped out onto the back patio. Exposed legs and arms on display in the barely there dress that had earned her several dirty looks she’d disregarded, warmed by her indifference of public opinion.
Her brand of calm vanished at the sight of her brother and his lovestruck best friend, who snapped to attention, vaulting to his feet again. Smooth, Patterson. Fixing a cool and in-control look on his face, Dougie messed with his hair, pushing the dark strands back with the finesse of a Hollywood heartthrob. Maria huffed loudly, staring beyond him like he was wasting her time.
She approached us with confident strides. The piercing click of her neck-breaking stilettos echoed against the stone pavers, her soles crushing grains of thick exterior salt and snow. He tracked her every step with a palpable desperation.
It was almost pathetic.
Where everyone winced at the next roll of winter’s frosty breath momentarily knocking the wind out of us, the temperature hadn’t fazed her. I supposed that fit with the ice-queen narrative she’d written for herself. This was her summer climate.
Maria stopped at the table, one hand perching on her hip. “I hope you’re pacing yourself,” she remarked, glaring at her brother’s chokehold around the neck of the bottle. The bartender was lax, not bothering with IDs, and they’d all collectively taken advantage of it, her included.
Sean’s eyes thinned. “Don’t worry about me.” As though to prove his point, he rose to his feet, looking down at her over his nose, agitation keeping the drunken sway at bay.
“I’m always worrying about you.” She raised her chin to close the height variance between them, but it was no use. While Maria was taller than average, Sean was still taller. “The last thing I need is for you to get sick on the car ride home.”
“Then stop talking,” he suggested. “’Cause you’re giving me a headache.”
“Then go inside,” she fired back.
“Why do I have to go inside when it was quiet before you got here?” He rolled his wrist holding the bottle, canting his head at Maria.
“Because I said so.”
“Fancy law school running Dad thirty Gs a year, and that’s the best argument you can come up with?”
Maria flexed on the tips of her heels, coming nose to nose with her brother. “Fine, Mommy’s looking for you, meu rico filho .” Her rich son.
She’d found Sean’s sore spot because his entire mood changed. Glowering, he leaned into his sister. “I’m just the catchall for all her dreams because you’ve practically cut her out of your life.”
The accusation didn’t faze her. It was public knowledge after the bleacher fiasco, she’d become a wild card her parents couldn’t control. Her dad pretended it wasn’t happening, and her ma gave her the silent treatment every time she caught wind of something she shouldn’t have.
Maria scoffed, matching his scowl. “Her dreams aren’t my dreams.” Physically, Sean and Maria looked the closest alike out of their siblings, sharing the same golden complexion, sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and eyes they’d inherited from their dad. “And I’m here, aren’t I?”
Frustrated, he threw his freehand up in the air. “Barely, Maria. You’re never home. You’re here, and you’ve got your nose buried in your schoolwork because you want to make sure the entire world knows how smart and important you are.”
She tilted her head away. “I don’t believe in glorifying something as fragile as marriage.”
“Twenty-two-fucking-years is something worth celebrating.”
“It’s a coverup and you know it!”
Throwing the back of her hand to her mouth, Maria created distance with an uneven step backward, processing her trilled accusation with bent brows and heaving pants.
It was weird that their parents had thrown a party of this size to celebrate twenty-two years of marriage.
They hadn’t done jack shit for their twentieth, but they’d spared no expense for this over-the-top event for two hundred of their closest friends and family.
Something wasn’t adding up. I’d spent five days a week with their dad since I’d graduated from high school, and there had been a vibe the last couple of months I couldn’t put my finger on. He had moments where he looked like he was on the verge of tears, and then instances where he was whistling and boisterous, exchanging a few laughs with the crew.
You never knew what you were going to get because it changed hour to hour.
But tonight, he was happy. Happy in a way I hadn’t seen in a hot minute. There was no point in trying to dissect it or argue about it. At least not right now. Tomorrow would come, and I suspected whatever was eating at John would come out, too.
“Guys,” I intervened, taking another drag on the cigarette. “Time out.” Maria’s watery, made-up, dark gaze homed in on the cigarette. Her real reason for coming outside and wanting her brother to leave. Only one of us was out in the open about our nicotine dependency. She blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. I knew she’d sooner blame the cold than acknowledge she was still a person with feelings.
“Your brother’s a few beers in and testy about something unrelated,” I advised. She vacillated before accepting the info with a weak nod. “And you.” I stared at Sean, his long posture taut and vibrating with irritation. “You need to take a couple of deep breaths.” He appeared to mull it over, assessing his sister through tapered eyes. “Both of you try to calm down.”
The suggestion ripped them from their brief calm. “I’m fine ,” they barked in unison. Right. So unbelievably calm.
Their glares hooked on each other, but just as quickly, they looked away.
At least they’d gotten off each other’s cases for now.
The dull thrum of the revelry from inside echoed, and I tipped my head back, digesting their argument while admiring the pinpricks of silvery stars dispersed beyond thick clouds. Bringing the remains of the cigarette back to my mouth, I was mid-drag when a small, throaty voice I couldn’t identify hit my ears.
“Hi, Dougie.”
Two words and three syllables wrapped up in a shy, breathy feminine pitch stirred interest in my veins.
Who was that? I twisted in my seat, craning my neck.
The veil of Maria’s irritation dropped, recalling something. She whirled around and motioned with her hand, stepping aside to make room in the unintentional circle we’d formed.
My next intake snagged in my tight lungs. I locked eyes on the five-foot-nothing brunette in an oversized leather jacket, anxiously gnawing on her painted bottom lip with her teeth.
There was a prickling of something —I didn’t have a better word for it—expanding along the back of my neck the longer I stared at the stranger, desperate to place her.
My lungs contracted. Shit. That kind of hurt. Why couldn’t I breathe? Hell, I wasn’t sure I needed to, as long as she was around.
Expelling the smoke quickly, I dropped the foot I’d had hooked on my knee, sliding forward in my seat. My heartbeat picked up momentum, the stranger’s features illuminating as she stepped under the bright stream pouring from the exterior sconces.
My brain short-circuited, overloaded by the unexplainable need to take in all of her at once, and failing to complete a single process. My limbs twitched, the muscles restless the same way they were when I had too many cigarettes. There was a joint in my pocket I hadn’t gotten into yet, so I definitely wasn’t high, but I also didn’t think this was the beer talking, either.
This was something else entirely. A lively static buzzed under my skin, affirming the thought. All I knew was I didn’t want to stop looking at her, and I wanted her to keep talking.
I stabbed the cigarette into the stone ashtray in front of me, not wanting anything to interfere with my appraisal.
Not smoke, not competing sounds or voices, not my own breaths or heartbeats.
The leather jacket, with its boxy, harsh shoulders and knee-length cut, obscured the complete picture of her figure. Its abrupt ending highlighted her endless bare legs, the strappy heels on her feet activating the curvature of her shapely, tapered calves.
God bless those fucking shoes.
The rhythmic crunching of salt under her careful steps fell in time with the pounding of my quickening pulse as she closed the space between us.
All I could do was stare, failing to come up with the words to describe her or whatever the hell was happening to me that demanded I orbit around her.
The tension in Dougie’s shoulders dissolved, recognition I didn’t like hitting his eyes. “Oh. Hey, Bel.”
Bel…? Had I heard that name before? And if not, why? Who was she? What was Bel short for? Annabelle? Isabelle? Belinda? None of those sounded right.
I fixated on her face, captivated by the delicate, straight slope of her nose and the pronounced outline of her Cupid’s bow lips resting in a natural pout. Her top lip was smaller than her bottom one, and her tongue flicked against the seam. I couldn’t tell if it was a coping mechanism or an anxious reflex, but it triggered both heads in a way it shouldn’t.
I wanted her to do it again.
Her cheeks rounded when she smiled, the apples growing rosy. “How are you?” she asked, my brain singing at her lilt.
She had a pretty smile, her teeth a little crooked, and I had an increasing awareness I didn’t like that it was for him.
Dougie blew out a loud raspberry with his lips, offering a nonverbal response with a shrug of his shoulders, earning her soft musical laugh. My chest expanded, warmth spreading over me.
She had a great laugh.
I flicked my stare over at him, silently imploring him to introduce me and back off, but the moron either didn’t notice or was inflicting my payback five years later.
He made it worse by striding over to where she stood. Dougie’s arms opened for her, and she stepped eagerly into his hold. My body temperature rose. I didn’t like that. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t. His stupid football-built upper body swallowed her in a tight embrace that she returned with equal strength, lava spilling into my gut.
“It’s nice to see you,” Dougie said.
It would be nicer if he hit the road. What the hell was wrong with me? No more cigarettes, and I sure as shit wasn’t smoking that joint.
“I forgot how short you are,” he observed with a chuckle as they pulled apart, his grubby paws still trained on her shoulders.
She stared up at him in wonderment, the entire length of her neck the same shade of a tomato.
My molars gnashed together. Her responsiveness to him pissed me off.
What was the deal here? Did she like him? If she did, Dougie was utterly oblivious to it or playing it up for Maria. It bothered me. His proximity. His ignorance of the effect he had on Bel. The way she gazed up at him, breathless and spellbound. How his touch made her melt in place. I needed him to get the hell away from her. Far, far, far away.
Needed? I gave my head a hard shake, clearing the thought. Idiot. I had no claim on the girl I’d met all of two minutes ago, and I wasn’t a caveman. At least, I didn’t think I was. The only thing I needed to do was get my head out of my ass.
“What’s with this jacket, though?” Dougie teased, pinching the shoulders of the leather, tugging on the gathered material. “It’s wearing you. Way too baggy.”
“Oh. No,” she started, holding up a hand. “It’s?—”
“The jacket’s mine ,” Maria interjected, unimpressed.
Sean whistled low to himself, fighting to snuff out the laugh threatening to surface.
Dougie’s hands snapped off Bel’s shoulders like he’d touched a hot iron, and my blood cooled a degree or two when he wheeled around, worry glinting in his eyes. “It’s a nice jacket.”
Fuck the jacket. The only thing I was interested in was what it was hiding.
“You just said it was too baggy,” Maria reminded plainly. “And that it’s wearing her, which is an indirect jab at me.”
“What?” he sputtered. “I didn’t even know the jacket was yours.”
Maria’s thin brow arched north, urging him to continue digging his grave.
Dougie slapped a hand against his forehead. “I mean, I mean, it is baggy on her, but what I meant is long . It’s-it’s longer on her.”
“He’s normally pretty good at this part,” Sean offered, taking a swig of the dregs of his beer. Someone was feeling better. “But this is entertaining as hell.”
Dougie was usually a smooth talker. He’d scored girls with less than two sentences and a flash of a smile. But with Maria, he had a knack for putting both feet in his mouth and choking on them.
“She’s a lot shorter than you,” he pressed, his nerves thickening his accent.
“So, just to paraphrase,” Maria began thinly, knitting her hands together. “I’m a giant who wears unflattering clothes you don’t approve of… anything else, Douglas?”
Dougie straightened at the usage of his full name. “ I didn’t call you a giant. Don’t put words in my mouth.” He glanced at Bel, then back to Maria. “And I’m sure the jacket looks amazing on you.” Bel tipped her stare to the ground with anticipation. “It just doesn’t look good on her.”
She winced. He didn’t notice, but I had. She’d anticipated the humbling blow before it had landed and had tried to diffuse the impact, but it hadn’t been enough.
Maria sneered at him. “But you inferred you have issues with my clothes.”
Nothing he’d said genuinely bothered her. She was just fucking with him and taking pleasure in making him squirm.
“No!” Dougie blurted, gesturing at Bel with both hands. “The jacket’s too fucking loose on her, Maria. She’s a fraction of your height. You’re like, model-tall. Of course, it’s going to look baggy on her.” The reframe hadn’t helped. He grimaced, waiting for the ground to open underneath him. “Fuck me,” he muttered, scraping a hand over his open mouth. The aggravated groan drilled into his palm. “This isn’t happening.”
“It was nice knowing him,” Sean said, but I was barely following the conversation, too consumed by every nuance of the timid brunette with her bowed head.
“Noted.” Maria fixed a hand on her waist and hiked her chin. “Anything further you’d like to add?” She made a demonstration of turning in place, giving herself the Vanna White treatment. “Please, tell me how I can make myself more desirable to the male gaze.”
The tips of Dougie’s ears burned a brilliant shade of red, his expression growing pained. “You’re perfect,” he exhaled. “I really mean that… you, you know I do.”
Maria ditched the act. “And you’re perfectly idiotic if you thought you were going to salvage this. You don’t impress me.” She flicked her eyes over his body, sneering. “You never have. I don’t give a shit what you think about me or my clothes.”
That time, the barb met its mark. His chest noticeably caved in, and he drew in a strained inhale through his nose. “Maria,” Dougie gritted, sandwiching his hands together in prayer. “This isn’t news, but I like you.”
Bel’s brows jumped a little at the ease of his confession, confirming what I’d assumed.
She held some sort of torch for him, even if the flame was small, but he had eyes for Maria, so he had never noticed the glow of the ember.
I needed to figure out if the flame was on the verge of snuffing out on its own or how the hell to smother it in its entirety. I made one hell of a fire extinguisher.
Dougie forged on, “I’ve always liked you even though you treat me like shit and broke my fucking nose.” He pointed to the twisted extremity on his face, green eyes pleading. “I’d still feel the same regardless of how you dressed.”
Distrust hit her eyes, unmoved by his impassioned speech. “Are you finished, Napoleon?”
He frowned. “Napoleon?”
“Yeah. Napoleon.” She tapped her foot, her nose wrinkling with disdain. “Napoleon complex.”
He plunged a frustrated hand through his dark hair, leaving tracks with his fingers. “I don’t know what that means, Maria, but if you’re trying to take a swing at me for being shorter than you in heels, it doesn’t bother me. I’m secure enough.” Dougie paused for a beat, considering his next play. “Besides…” An impish grin obliterated all traces of worry from his face. “I’m real tall where it counts.”
Sean choked on his beer. “Dougie,” he growled.
I threw my head back with a loud, spluttering laugh, the echo carrying in the courtyard.
Maria tried to disguise the remark affected her, but the dilation of her pupils was a dead giveaway.
I couldn’t get a clear read if she was curious or hadn’t expected the rebuttal.
She scoffed, recovering, her hoop earrings swaying when she canted her head. “If you have to say that”—Maria made a shrinking motion with her forefinger and thumb—“you’re probably just as short there, too.”
“Happy to prove you wrong.” He winked at her. “Dinner Friday night?”
“I’m gonna kill him,” Sean declared, appraising the beer bottle in his hand like a weapon.
Maria’s cheeks brightened. “Not even if you were the last man alive.” Her neck grew proud as she straightened her spine, poised for violence to compensate. “I’d sooner join a convent. Take your two-can-dine coupons and shove them up your ass.”
She was never going to let him live the coupon fiasco down.
“Jesus, Maria.” The remark forced Sean to change sides, his eyes tapering at his sister. “He’s not that bad… once you get past his snoring, anyway.”
Dougie shrugged sheepishly. His snoring was brutal, no thanks to her and his busted septum. “I am sorry, though. Really. You’re…” he drew in a gulp of air. “Fucking beautiful, and I suck at this. I say all the wrong things where it concerns you.”
Maria scoffed. “Clearly.” A bitter flash of hurt glinted in her eyes, but it was gone before I could analyze it. “But stop wasting your time.” Seething, she gave him a dismissive once-over. “It’s pathetic .” Dougie’s waning smile collapsed, and I swore the loss of his bravado only provoked her further. “I don’t like pathetic men.” Her voice wobbled, and she took a sharp breath, regaining her scathing momentum. “I’m out of your league. I will always be out of your league.” His posture stooped under the pummel of her verbal lashing. “So, move on already. This is getting very old and very boring.”