Chapter 7
7
brYCE
My parents hate my car. They’d prefer I drive a gas-guzzling SUV with bulletproof windows and tires meant to handle rough-as-fuck terrain than a small electric one. Being protective and judgmental are their love languages. I pieced that together when I was just a kid and have been rebelling since. Purchasing a small black car that would most likely crunch like a hard tortilla shell in a collision drove them mad, and I like watching them sweat a bit. I’m pretty sure that is my love language.
When I pull up along the curb outside my house, I linger longer than necessary just to avoid joining the people I know are already inside. The old truck in front of my car is Johnny’s, and the dainty blue one across the street I recognize instantly as Daisy’s, but I don’t know the vehicle in front of it. Or understand how someone could be blind enough to park in front of a bright red fire hydrant. It’ll get towed if an RC sees it, but it’s not my business.
It’s unsettling having so many people at my place while I’m not there, but I can either get used to it now or let it eat me up inside.
Fuck it.
I get out of the car and lock it twice before slugging my way up the sidewalk. The front door is unlocked when I turn the handle and push my way in.
“Maybe you could ask her to give me a free tattoo. She gave Poppy one, but when I asked, she told me to stop talking,” Johnny shouts, his voice slightly muted, as if he’s in one of the rooms down the hall.
I don’t see anyone as I shut the door and kick off my boots, so my muscles loosen slightly. There aren’t a bunch of boxes all over, and from what I can tell, all of my things are still in their rightful place. My black couch doesn’t have any colourful throw pillows on it, and the skull-shaped candle I impulse ordered online the other night is still on the fireplace mantel.
Wandering into the kitchen, I search the counters for anything new, but they’re bare of anything besides a fruit bowl with a single banana inside. Curiosity fills me as I leave the kitchen and start down the hall toward the mix of voices.
“You’re not unpacking my clothes, Johnny.”
“Why? I’m just trying to help.”
“Go put my tampons beneath the sink, then.”
A heavy sigh. “Fine.”
I wait in the hallway, a few feet from the open bedroom door. There’s a slam of a cabinet, and then a voice that doesn’t belong to either Daisy or her brother appears.
“Am I allowed to help with your clothes, or am I on tampon duty too?”
Kristen Newberry, Daisy’s best friend, isn’t someone I’m very knowledgeable of, but I still recognize her voice. I’ve heard it around the diner and at Johnny’s family barbeques that I’m always brought to.
She’s a stranger in my home, but then again, isn’t Daisy one as well?
With a stretch of my neck, I walk into the spare room and get my first look at the people there. Kristen’s the first I see. She’s stretched out on the bed, wrinkling the comforter I washed last night. Two suitcases are beside her, but only one is open, exposing the clothes inside.
It’s damn near impossible to keep my eyes from snapping to the pile of hot pink panties and nude bras inside the left of the suitcase. They’re just there. Obvious and free for everyone to see.
I clear my throat and look at Daisy when she swings around from her place in front of the dresser. Her smile is wide and genuine, and I swallow twice.
“Hi, Bryce!”
I swallow again. “Is the room fine?”
“It’s great. I wasn’t expecting it to be so spacious,” she says.
“Yeah. The place is pretty big.”
“Jeez, Brycie. Why are you still wearin’ that? You’re scaring me,” Johnny states, exiting the ensuite bathroom.
Daisy looks at him with narrowed eyes. “Johnny! That’s so rude.”
“It’s true,” I mutter.
The high-collared button-down blouse and pencil skirt that falls to my ankles feel like a prison jumpsuit more than a work uniform. Every day, it seems to grow harder and harder not to rip them off and burn them in a field.
“The clothes look uncomfortable.” Daisy slides the dresser drawer shut and moves closer.
Kristen stares at me, a subtle, calculating gleam in her eyes. It’s not enough to annoy me, so I let it be. If she’s anything like me, she’s trying to send a warning in regards to her best friend.
I’ve done far worse to make others treat my friends with respect than simply stare at them. I can appreciate her effort. As weak as it may be.
Daisy stops beside the bed and lays a hand on the mattress. Five sparkling, yellow nails gleam beneath the ceiling light. Her twin follows behind her but doesn’t stop at the bed. He comes right up to me and flattens his massive hand on the top of my head before moving it around.
I pinch the underside of his arm, and he squeals like a pig before yanking his hand back. “Don’t do that again, or I’ll shave your hair off in your sleep.”
“Aurora wouldn’t speak to you again if you did that,” he tosses back with an arrogant lift of his voice. “She loves my hair.”
“She would get over it.”
“You don’t have the face for a bald head,” Kristen tells him.
Daisy fails to hide her amusement. “She’s not wrong. Don’t risk it.”
“You know what? I’m leavin’. First, I’m on tampon duty, and then this? I need to go home to my woman,” he says.
Smile drooping, Daisy asks, “You’ll come by soon?”
“’Course, D. Whenever you want.” He side-eyes a look at me. “Bryce won’t have a problem with my surprise visits, right?”
My brow twitches. “Even if I said yes, it wouldn’t matter.”
“Great. I’ll take that as approval. Walk me out?” he asks.
Once again, he isn’t really asking me, so I just nod and lead him out of the room. We don’t make it three steps before Daisy’s stopping us.
“I’ll come too!”
I glance over my shoulder and see Johnny shake his head at her and lightly push her backward into the bedroom.
“Nah, you unpack with Kiki. Call me tomorrow. Love you.”
He kisses her head and then nudges me forward. I tilt my head and watch the two of them, intrigued with what this is about.
“Johnny,” Daisy says, his name spoken with obvious warning.
“Are these all thongs, Didi?” Kristen asks loudly. “Ooh, a strapless bra. And a?—”
Daisy loosens a sigh and then leaves. “Yeah, I get it. Stop going through my intimates.”
“Intimates? How very modest of you.”
Johnny settles at my side as we continue down the hallway. The longer he waits to speak, the more intense my curiosity grows.
“Did you get piss on my toilet seat or something? What’s up with you?” I ask once we’ve made it to the entryway.
“I’m not a dog, Bryce.”
“Depends on the circumstances.”
His laugh is more snort than anything else. “Alright. You know I like you, Bryce. Wouldn’t have let Poppy suggest Daisy stay here otherwise.”
Leaning back against the wall, I cross my arms and nod. “Alright.”
“Be nice to her while she’s here. Drop the ice queen act a bit.”
“Ice queen?”
“Yeah, ice queen. I know better than to tell a woman she should smile more, but just . . . warm up a bit around her. Try to have a conversation every once in a while. Get to know her.”
“She’ll be fine here, Johnny. You’ve got my word.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I really want to change.”
“Yeah, I don’t blame you. It’s hard to have a serious conversation with you when you look like that.”
My lips flatten in a scowl. “Like what?”
“Your shirt is buttoned up so high I’m surprised it hasn’t choked you out. How much longer do you have to wear this shit?”
“I don’t know. I thought I’d be used to it by now, but I think it grows itchier every day.”
Sliding a nail beneath the tight cuff around my wrist, I scrape at my skin. The tattoo on the back of my hand has healed a bit and is less itchy than the rest of my body.
“Can’t you just not wear it? What are your parents going to do? Fire you?”
“I’m picking my battles.”
And right now, I need to focus on getting my mom off my back with this blind date nonsense .
“Well, glad to see you’ve kept the boots, at least. Maybe you can get Daisy into a pair. I’ve been trying for a long fuckin’ time with no luck,” he says before offering me another grin and slipping past me to the door.
His boots aren’t inside, and while I didn’t look for them outside, I’d bet they’re on the other side of the door. He was raised proper despite his sometimes annoying demeanour. Dirty cowboy boots on my floor would have made me have a stroke.
“Your sister wears hand-painted Converse. I doubt she’ll ever slip on a pair of boots,” I state.
“Worth a shot. Thanks again, Bryce. Means a lot to me that you took her in. I know you like your space.”
“Stop thanking me.”
He chuckles and grips the door handle. “You got it. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”
“Bye, Johnny.”
“Bye, Brycie.”
Once he’s gone, I pop open the top two buttons of my blouse and head for the kitchen. My collection of Fanta cans in the fridge is a welcome sight, and I snag one before cracking it open.
Skull aching from having my hair up all day, I tug the elastic from it and moan at the instant relief.
“Am I interrupting?”
I tighten my hold on the cold can in my hand and meet Daisy’s stare. With one leg in the kitchen and the other still in the hall, she visibly hesitates to join me. Even her expression is nervous, all rolled lips and hopeful eyes.
“You can come in,” I say.
She accepts the invitation she didn’t need and eyes the drink in my hand. The corner of my mouth twitches slightly as I twist and pull her a can from the fridge. Face carefully blank, I offer it to her.
“Thank you. I love Fanta.”
It sounds like a lie, but I can’t quite tell.
“I thought you’d be a Crush kind of girl. ”
“Orange or cream soda?”
I cross my ankles and tap a nail against my can. “Cream soda.”
“Care to elaborate on that?”
“No.”
She slides a sparkly nail beneath the tab on her can and cracks it open with a soft smile. “Do you want to know what kind of pop I thought you’d like?”
“Something fucking boring like Pepsi?”
Her nose wrinkles. “No. More like sour apple. A flavour only available in one of those fancy glass bottles.”
I blink at her, tonguing my cheek. “Should I be offended?”
“You tell me,” she teases before taking a sip of her drink.
“I don’t get offended by much.”
“What’s your secret?”
I pause. I’ve always known it would be easy to talk to Daisy, and I’m being proven right with each passing minute we stand here. My edges soften in her proximity, and fuck, that’s dangerous. That’s why I sharpen them again before she has a chance to do any damage with her toothache-inducing sweetness.
“It’s not giving a shit, Daisy. You should try it sometime.”
She doesn’t so much as flinch at my harsh tone. “Isn’t that boring? Maybe it’s easier not to be bothered by things, but I like caring.”
“Your loss, then.” I finish my drink and drop the can in the blue bin beside the fridge. “I don’t have many rules, but I like to keep to myself. Sometimes I have friends over, and they can be loud, as I’m sure you know. There’s only one bathroom, so keep showers quick in the morning. I work weekdays from eight ’til four thirty and am off weekends. There aren’t a lot of groceries in the fridge?—”
“I can buy my own groceries. And just give me a list with my share of the rent and utilities and when you want them paid by. I’m not a freeloader, Bryce. Cleaning up after myself and being respectful of others is something that comes naturally to me,” she says, clutching her can to her chest.
“Alright. Then, we’re good.”
“We’re good,” she agrees.
Swiping my tongue over my lips, I nod, glancing around the room. “The code will get you into the house whenever you want, but if you want a key, I can get one cut. Poppy and Anna are the only two other people with keys.”
“Your parents don’t have one?”
I laugh. “No. And that’s a good thing.”
Her lips part twice, as if she’s trying to think of what to say before finally asking, “Are you okay with my moms coming over? They’re a bit . . . They just like to see me often. I can always just go over to their place if you’re not okay with that.”
“They’re welcome here. All the Mitchells are.”
“Thank you.” Her smile warms the room and knocks at my chest. “I’ll let you go get out of your work clothes. I’ve got some unpacking to do.”
“Kristen didn’t want to stay and help you?” I ask before I can leave her there without another word.
Fuck . This is exactly what I was talking about.
“I wanted a bit of time alone to speak with you first.”
“Are you always so straightforward when someone asks you something? We hardly know each other.”
She laughs softly, moving toward me at a casual pace. The first touch of her hand to my arm makes my throat sticky. It’s hot and gentle. Calm and searing.
“I don’t think that’s true. But even so, I’m excited to change that.”
With a stiff arm and the lingering heat of her touch burned into my skin, she leaves me standing in the kitchen. This time when I reach into the fridge, it’s a beer I’m gripping.