“No way,” Harlow says as she shuts off the engine. “You have to get a milkshake and a burger. The fries taste the best when you eat them with a combo.”
Raven shifts uncomfortably while chewing on her thumbnail. “It’d really be a waste of food, because there’s no way I’m that hungry right now.”
“Oh, fine.” Harlow pouts. “But next time we come here, you totally have to try some of everything.”
Raven laughs at that. “That’s a lot of fucking food.”
“Yeah, well, if we put our minds to it, I’m sure we can do it.” Harlow grins at her.
Raven grins back. “Okay, next time then.”
“Awesome.” Harlow assesses the menu then, even though she’ll probably order what she always does.
I look at the menu, too, trying to figure out what I want today when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Raven sticking her hand into her pocket and pulling out some cash. Three dollar bills to be exact. It clicks then why she’s being weird about ordering food.
She pockets the money quickly as her phone buzzes. She takes it out, checks the messages, and frowns.
“Bad news?” I wonder.
She startles, then looks up at me and shakes her head. “No … I don’t know.”
“Is it them again?” Harlow asks her.
“I …” Raven hesitantly glances at me then at Harlow.
“Oh, don’t worry about Hunter,” Harlow says. “He’s the person who I was gonna ask for help tracking them down.”
Wait … Did she tell Raven I’m one of the owners of The Raven Three, something that’s supposed to remain anonymous?
Goddammit, Harlow.
While Raven isn’t looking at me, I glare at Harlow, but she just rolls her eyes.
“Stop looking at me like that. Raven’s totally trustworthy.”
“How can you be so sure? You’ve known her for like, what? Thirty minutes?” I snap. Of course, when Raven tenses, I feel like a total douchebag. “Sorry,” I tell Raven. “I just … No one’s supposed to know who owns my business. It’s … Well, it’s important that I keep it a secret.”
“I promise I won’t say anything,” she tells me, offering me the saddest smile I’ve ever seen. “Trust me; I get wanting to keep shit a secret. And if you don’t want to help me, I totally get that, too.”
Jesus, those eyes … the sadness in them … it’s swallowing me whole right now.
Maybe that’s why I say what I say next. Or maybe I’m really just as stupid as my father says I am.
“No, I’ll help you,” I tell her, and relief washes over her pretty features.
“Awesome,” Harlow says then pushes open the door. “I have to use the bathroom. If the waitress comes while I’m gone, order me a chocolate shake with extra cherries, a burger without pickles, and a large order of fries.” She climbs out of the car, shuts the door, and then heads inside.
Silence briefly stretches between Raven and me as she stares down at her phone.
“So, I’m guessing from the way you’re staring at your phone that you received a text from someone anonymous and want me to track it down,” I say, breaking the silence.
Nodding, she glances up at me. “It’s from an unknown number.”
“Can I see it?” I start to reach for her phone, but she wraps her fingers around it.
“Before I show you, can you promise not to ask me questions about the contents of the message?”
“I never do that with my clients.” And usually, I don’t care. With her, though … I’m curious about her. Where she comes from. Who she is.
Why she looks so sad.
“Thanks.” Then she takes a deep breath and hands me the phone, showing the message.
Unknown: I know who you are, and I know what you did.
Okay, yeah, I want to ask her questions, yet I know I can’t.
So, instead, I say, “I can definitely look into this. How long it’ll take, though, all depends on what sort of phone the person sent this from. If they just used a blocking app from their own phone, it’ll be easy. If it’s a burner phone, it might take a bit.” I dig my own phone out of my pocket. “I can tell you right now which one it’ll be.”
I swipe my finger across the screen, open the scanning app, and then put it close enough to her phone so that I can scan it.
She watches in fascination. “Where did you learn how to do this sort of thing?”
“From people who work for my dad.” I set the phones on the dashboard. Then I brace myself for her to ask questions about my dad.
Surprisingly, she doesn’t.
“That’s kind of cool. I mean, that you know how to do this stuff,” she says. “I honestly think it’s just my cousin. Well, I think my cousin had someone send it.”
I glance at her. “Does your cousin often send you ominous messages?”
She nods. “Yeah … She has a thing for making my life miserable.”
I hesitate, unsure if I should ask, but the need to know overwhelms me. “She’s that blonde girl, right? The one who started school today, too.”
She nods, eyeing me over. “Her name’s Dixie May. Have you met her yet?”
I shake my head. “No. I just saw her in the hallway.”
“Hmmm …” she remarks. “I’m surprised she hasn’t introduced herself yet.”
My brows furrow. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re an FH.”
“You said that to me in the office, but I still don’t know what it means.”
She picks at her fingernail. “It’s what Dixie May refers to as a fuckable hottie.”
I can’t stop a grin from spreading across my face. “You think I’m hot?”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m sure you already know that since you literally just had a girl chasing after you.”
My grin broadens. “I’m not asking if Katy thinks I’m hot—I already know she does. I was asking if you think I’m hot.”
Her cheeks turn pink. She’s blushing. Actually fucking blushing. And it’s by far the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re blushing,” I tease.
She glares at me, but she’s struggling not to smile. “Shut up. I am not.”
“You are,” I insist. “It’s okay, though. It’s cute.”
She rolls her eyes again. “No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is. It’s cute—you’re cute.” Then I reach up and brush my hand across her cheek. I’m not even sure why I do it, other than maybe I want to see if her skin is as soft as it looks. And it is, if not softer.
A shaky breath fumbles from her lips, her cheeks tinting pink even more. “I’m not cute,” she breathes out.
“No. You completely fucking are.” I graze my knuckles across her cheek again.
When her eyelashes flutter, I almost kiss her, which I know would be a dumbass move, seeing as how she just befriended my loner sister, and I have a knack for only hooking up. Although, with how easily Raven blushed, I wonder if she’s not the hooking up type.
Thankfully, the waitress skates up before I can do something stupid.
I know her from school. Her name is Stella, and she’s a year older than me, having graduated last summer. She never went to college, which is kind of a typical thing for this town.
“Hey, Hunter,” she greets me with a smile as she skates up to my rolled-down window. “What’re you doing sitting in the passenger seat of your own car.”
“Harlow wanted to drive,” I reply, resting my arm on the windowsill.
“Right. She’s sixteen now,” she says as she digs her ordering pad and pen from out of the apron tied around her waist. “That’s crazy. I can still remember when she was little and used to color on everything.” She laughs softly. “Remember that one time in grade school when she colored all over the school walls.”
“I remember.” I try to keep my tone light, but the memory was so much darker than Stella realizes. When Harlow and I got home that day from school, the teacher had already informed my dad
about what happened. He was livid and started screaming at Harlow to the point where I thought he was going to hit her, so I stepped and lied, saying I was the one who did it, and the teacher was just confused. He struck me so hard my ears rang. It wasn’t the first or last time he hit me. “Should’ve known back then that she’d get into art.”
“She’s into art?” Stella asks, poising the pen. “I guess I’m not surprised, considering who her big brother is.” She smiles at me.
It’s a flirty smile, and normally, I’d probably flirt back, but considering I was just flirting with Raven, I keep a friendly tone and smile.
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say, scratching my wrist.
“You’re an artist?” Raven asks, seeming a bit surprised.
I glance at her with an amused smile on my face. “Sort of. Why do you sound so surprised?”
She gives a half-shrug. “I just thought you were a jock.”
“Jocks can be artists, too,” I tell her. “How do you know I’m a jock? Or did Katy tell you?”
“No, I overheard the teacher talking to you about a game or something,” she explains. “I was kind of surprised you play sports. You don’t really look like the type.”
Now I’m beyond amused. “What do I look like I’d be into then?”
Her gaze scrolls up and down me, and then she shrugs. “Well, if I had to stereotype you, I’d say music or art.”
“I actually am into both,” I inform her. When she gives me a disbelieving look, I wink at her. “I’m a man of many talents.”
She shakes her head but smiles, her lips parting.
“Um, I kind of need to take your order,” Stella interrupts.
Shit. I’d almost forgotten she was there.
I turn toward her. “Right. Sorry about that.”
“It’s no problem.” She offers me a friendly, not flirty smile. “What can I get you?”
I order what Harlow told me, then order my own food, but double it so Raven can eat more than just some fries if she wants.
“Sounds good,” Stella says as she jots the order down. Then she looks at Raven. “And for you?”
“I’ll just have fries,” Raven says, fiddling with a leather band covering her wrist.
“Really?” Stella questions, eyeing her over. “Wait—you’re new here, right?”
She nods. “I just moved here this weekend.”
She smiles. “Well, welcome to our town.”
“Thanks,” Raven replies, giving her a small smile.
Stella smiles one last time at her then looks at me. “I’ll go put in your order. It’ll probably be ready in about fifteen minutes.” Then she skates off to the order window.
“So you’re really an artist, musician, and a jock?” Raven asks, going right back to the conversation.
I turn to her and nod. “I’m not really into the same kind of art as Harlow, though. She likes to sketch and paint while I’m into photography. As for the musician stuff, I’m not in a band or anything. I just like to play the guitar sometimes. And as for the jock thing, I play basketball.”
“That’s a lot of stuff,” she comments, combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t even have one talent, let alone three.”
“Everyone has a talent. So, either you haven’t found yours yet, or you just don’t want to tell me.”
“If that’s true, then it’s definitely the first,” she says. “It’s awesome you can play the guitar. And the photography thing is interesting.”
“Not impressed by the basketball thing, huh?” I tease.
She dithers. “It’s not that I’m not impressed. I’ve just had bad experiences with jocks.”
“Not all of them are bad,” I assure her. “I’m not. I promise.”
“You don’t seem bad, and I don’t really think all of them are bad. It’s just …” She sighs. “I guess I’ve just had a lot of bad experiences with jocks, but that might partly be because of Dixie May …” She shrugs again, then offers me a cute, little smile. “I’ll try not to stereotype you into that group.”
I smile at her, but I’m a bit unsettled with what she’s saying. She keeps bringing up her cousin, which makes me want to know … “You said you live with your cousin?”
She gives a reluctant nod. “Unfortunately.”
“Does she live with your family? Or do you live with hers?”
As her gaze drops to her lap, I have my answer. And I feel bad for even bringing it up.
“I live with hers … My parents died a handful of years ago, so …” She sucks in a breath and looks up at me. “Yeah, anyway, Dixie May and I have never gotten along, which you’ve probably caught on to.”
I nod and proceed with caution. “Has she always been mean to you?”
She nods. “But honestly, up until I had to move in with them, I barely knew her.” She gives a short pause. “To be honest, in a way, I kind of feel bad for her. Her mom—my aunt—is a real piece of work, and Dixie May is basically her doppelganger.”
“So, she’s been taught bitchery.”
She smiles at that. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“Thankfully, it didn’t wear on you.” At least, she doesn’t seem that way so far. And she’s been nice to Harlow.
“You sure about that?” she questions. “I think you’re forgetting what happened between me and Zay.”
“Nah. Zay was an asshole. You were just defending yourself.”
“I could’ve just changed seats.”
“And Zay could’ve just left you alone. The seats aren’t assigned anyway.” If Zay heard me right now, he’d lose his shit. But what I’m saying is true. Zay didn’t need to be such a dick to Raven. Granted, he’s a dick to almost everyone. “You shouldn’t take it personally,” I add. “Zay’s kind of a dick to everyone.”
“So, it’s not just me?”
“Nah. If anyone had sat in his seat, he would’ve reacted the same way. Although, anyone who knows him would’ve never sat in his seat.”
“Hmm …” She rubs her lips together, and again, I find myself wanting to kiss her. “So, what you’re saying is that tomorrow I should sit in a different seat.”
I start to nod then hesitate. “Well, that all depends.”
Her brows furrow. “On what?”
“On if you can find a seat available by me.”
“You wanna sit by me?” she asks, sounding shocked.
“Sure. I mean, we can be friends, right?” Just friends, I have to remind myself. Because, if she’s going to be friends with Harlow, too, I can’t ruin that by … well, being myself. Harlow hasn’t had any good friends for a long time, and she’s the most important person in my life.
“Friends.” She says the word funnily.
“What’s so funny about that?” I wonder amusedly.
She gives a shrug. “I just haven’t had a lot of those in my life. And now, suddenly, I have two people offering to be my friend … It’s a little weird.”
The way she says it, as if it’s so surprising that someone would want to be her friend, makes my chest tightens a bit. I’ve been lucky in my life to have two best friends since I was in grade school. I’ve seen Harlow struggle to make friends though, so I’ve seen how hard it is to go through life friendless.
“Well, welcome to the land of weird, then,” I tell her with a grin.
She traces her lips with the tip of her tongue, appearing amused by something. “You say that like I already accepted your offer of friendship,” she teases.
My grin widens, but then I jut out my bottom lip. “So, you’re saying you don’t wanna be my friend? Way to break my heart.”
She bites back a smile. “Fine. I’ll be your friend. Just stop pouting.”
I only pout more, and she playfully pinches my side.
I laugh, gripping my side. “So vicious.” I lower my hand then, grinning, I pinch her back on the side.
Instead of laughing, she winces, her face contorting with pain.
I jerk back. “What’s w
rong?”
“It’s nothing,” she mumbles shakily.
It’s clearly not nothing, and I’m about to attempt to get the truth out of her, but Harlow returns to the car.
“Please tell me the waitress took our order already,” she says as she climbs into the driver’s seat and shuts the door.
“She did,” Raven tells her, wiping her expression clean of all signs that she was in pain. But just because she erased the look, doesn’t mean I’m going to forget it. No, the look is branded in my mind.
I want to know what caused it. Want to know all about the girl with hair like raven feathers and eyes so hauntingly beautiful. The girl I just told I want to be her friend.
Just her friend.
Just friends.
The thing is …
That might be a lie.
Shit, I’m so screwed.
10
Raven
Everything was going great until he pinched my side. Then it all came rushing back to me, every horrible moment, every scar. Everything he’s done to me. But I do my best to play it off, hoping to God that he doesn’t ask questions. Luckily, Harlow shows up and offers a fantastic distraction.
“That was the longest piss ever,” Hunter remarks after his sister has climbed back in. His brow arches upward in accusation, perplexing the hell out of me.
Harlow adjusts the rearview mirror and examines her expression. “What can I say? I drank a thirty-two ounce soda for breakfast.”
Hunter just shakes his head while thrumming his fingers against his knee, clearly annoyed.
And me? I’m totally confused and feeling really uncomfortable. Before the awkwardness gets too out of hand, though, the waitress skates up with our order. She smiles as she balances the tray on Hunter’s half-rolled down window.
“Just honk if you need anything, okay?” She smiles at him before skating back toward the order window.
“Just honk if you need anything,” Harlow mocks while twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “And I mean, anything at all.”
Hunter picks up a burger. “She didn’t say anything at all.” He hands Harlow the burger.
“Yeah, so? She meant it.” Harlow unwraps the burger then glances at me. “Something you should know about this little town that you now live in—almost every girl around your age, give or take a couple of years, is freakin’ obsessed with my brother.”
The Art of Being Friends Page 7
