by Jamie Howard
“Yeah, yeah, I’m late,” I grumble under my breath. I wouldn’t have been if I’d followed my better instincts and blown right past the disabled Wrangler, but just as I decided to keep right on going, my foot eased off the gas and I slammed on the brakes. I’ve always been a sucker. One day it’s going to get me in trouble.
I’m tying my apron on when the door swings back open and Blaire reappears. Her brown hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail and her green eyes are glittering. “Do you know how many tables I’ve had to juggle by myself while you were moseying your ass in today?”
I roll my eyes at her and give the apron strings a final tug. “I wasn’t moseying. Some guy was stranded on the side of the road, so I stopped to help.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
When I just stare at her, she gives me a harder stare back. “You don’t just stop to help random people. The guy could have been an ax murderer or a serial killer.”
I scoff and wave a dismissive hand her way as I turn to roll some silverware. “He wasn’t an ax murderer, he was just a guy whose car broke down and who didn’t have his phone.”
She peeks through the window in the door, surveying the tables. “Convenient.”
I stack the rolled sets of silverware in a pile next to me, glad to see the routine of it is coming back to me quickly. It’s been years since I helped out around Gran’s Diner, but it’s almost like I never left.
“Yes, Blaire, it was very convenient for him that his car broke down and he had no phone. He must have known I’d be driving down that stretch of road and staged the whole thing.”
Her footsteps echo as she walks across the room, and I turn just in time to catch the rag that’s flying at my face. “You’ve got crap on your leg.”
I wipe at the smeared grease stain, scrubbing to get it off until my skin is red.
“Is that grease?”
I laugh. “Actually, yes. I offered to take a peek under the hood of the car.”
The dangerous glint to her eyes dims a fraction. “Seriously? Why?”
“Honestly, I thought it would be kind of funny. Although, come to think of it, he didn’t look all that amused.”
Her eyes narrow as she looks at me, and she takes another peek out front. “The next table is yours, by the way.” Her first sentence nearly collides with the second. “Who was the guy?”
I find another smudge of grease on my hand and get to work on that. “Luke … I don’t know. I didn’t get his last name.”
“Luke Evans?” she asks, her hands finding their way down to her bossy hips.
Didn’t I just say that I didn’t get his last name? I throw the rag back at her, which catches her on the shoulder before plopping down onto the tile floor. “He could be Luke Skywalker for all I know.”
She toes the towel and kicks it into the sink. “Really tall?”
I nod.
“Killer blue eyes, long-ish brown hair, fucking gorgeous?” Her voice rises as she speaks, like someone is accidentally leaning on the volume button of the remote.
“Um, I guess? He had sunglasses on, so I couldn’t really see his eyes. He was at that party last night. The one who wiped out at my feet? You know, the guy who was letting that girl fondle him in front of everyone?” Gross. There’s no bigger turnoff than a guy who thinks the world lives and dies in his pants.
She bursts out laughing. “Did you just say ‘fondle’? God, Sloane.” While she continues cackling, I start stacking clean dishes on the shelf.
“Well, let me add a last name to the first one you got. That is Luke Evans, and he is definitely the guy who lets girls fondle him in public. Hell, I’d definitely let him—”
I throw up a hand to cut her off. “Please, don’t.”
“Don’t say it or don’t do it?”
I shudder. “Either. With how many holes he’s probably stuck that thing in, I bet it’s about to shrivel up and die.”
She hops onto the counter next to me, swinging her legs back and forth so that her heels drum against the metal cabinets. “Can I at least talk to him, Miss Prude? I hear he’s quite the charmer.”
“You’re joking, right?” I give her an incredulous look as a plate dangles from my hand.
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows draw together. “No, are you?”
I slide the last plate into the cabinet and shut it. “He barely managed to string together a multisyllabic sentence, and I had to repeat my name for him. Twice. I’m pretty sure the guy took the short bus to school.”
Blaire’s mouth drops open. “You did not just say that.”
I already want to take it back. I’m not a mean person. Ever. But guys like that—I can’t stand them. Especially not after … Nope. Grabbing that intrusive thought around the throat, I shove it back into the box of things I never want to think about again.
She chews on her lip as she studies me, seeing straight through me like she always does. At least I have the same power over her. It must be a sister thing. That or the fact that we grew up in each other’s back pocket with less than a year separating the two of us in age.
Hopping down off the counter, she takes another glance through the window. When she turns back around, her eyes are glittering again. “Gran sat table seven; it’s all yours.”
I bump through the door and fumble in my apron for my pen, not really paying attention. “Good morning, my name is—”
“Sloane.”
My eyes snap up as I finally find the pen and stare straight into the prettiest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re nicer than mine, which is saying something, since I really love my eyes. These eyes are such a pale blue, like Winterfresh gum, and so unexpected when they’re surrounded by that overly sun-kissed skin and dark brown hair.
“You again.” The words slip out from between my lips before I even realize I’ve said them.
He looks slightly taken aback, and his smile slips a notch. He gestures across the table. “This is Archer.”
I hold out my hand to him, but I’m still holding the pen. I shuffle it back into my other hand and try again. “Nice to meet you.” He shakes my hand, trying to keep the look of amusement from his face but failing.
“What can I get you guys?”
“French toast and coffee for me, please,” Archer says, handing me back his plastic-coated menu.
“I’ll have coffee too, French fries, banana pancakes, and a chocolate milkshake.” Luke offers up his menu and waits for me to comment on his order. That combination of food plus the way his eyes are squinting at me are leading me to believe he’s nursing quite the hangover.
“Coming right up.”
I can feel his eyes on my ass the entire way back to the kitchen. Pig.
Chapter 3
Luke
“Dude, do you know who the hell that is?” Archer asks, his eyebrows searching for his hairline.
God, I must still be drunk. “I’m pretty sure I just introduced Sloane to you, not the other way around.”
He smirks at me, showing a hint of his teeth. “What’s her last name?”
I rack my brain, trying to remember if she’d given it to me. If she did, I don’t remember it. “Would you get to the point already?”
He leans toward me as if he’s sharing a state secret. “That’s Sloane Avery.”
Avery, Avery … my mind searches, but the little guy upstairs pulling out the files is working really slowly this morning. Lightbulb. “Shit, are you serious?”
“Dead serious, man.”
The floating puzzle pieces in my brain finally click together. “I should’ve known when she pulled over in her Mas this morning.”
“The things I’d do for that car.” His eyes shift to where the gorgeous brunette from last night emerges through the kitchen door balancing four plates on her toned arms. “And that’s Blaire Avery.”
“Sisters?”
He nods. Noticing our perusal, she turns a blinding smile in our direction that goes straight to my crotch. Nothing shy abo
ut that one.
“What are they doing here? Shouldn’t they be up at the Point?”
Briscoll Bay is no stranger to elitists and the Archers top that list, but the Averys are in another league entirely. The Point has always been the stomping grounds for their kind, and I can’t even imagine what could’ve happened to have them slumming it here in the Bay with us this summer.
He lowers his voice, which I silently thank the gods for. My head’s about to fall off my fucking shoulders. “Typically, but they came this summer to help out their gran.”
“They gave up their summer to hang out with their gran?”
He shrugs. “That’s the only reason they’re giving.”
Sloane hip-checks the kitchen door open and heads in our direction. Archer shifts backward so it looks a little bit less like we’re two teenage chicks gossiping.
She sets two coffee mugs on the table and fills them, sliding a bowl of creamers and sugar across the table. Just when I think she’s going to walk away, she holds out her hand toward me.
I stare at it. What the hell is she doing?
When I don’t respond she bounces her hand back and forth and lifts an eyebrow in my direction. She darts a glance at her sister and makes a face. I flick my gaze toward Blaire to find her burying her face in a napkin.
Finally figuring out what she wants, I hold out my hand. She dumps two small pills into my hand. When I don’t say anything, she ducks her head so her eyes are even with mine.
I notice that she speaks very slowly, like English isn’t my native language. It’s the second time this morning she’s used this tactic with me. “It’s aspirin.”
Aspirin. I could fucking kiss her right now.
Archer breaks through the awkward silence. “Thanks, Sloane.”
She looks at him and smiles. “You’re welcome.”
As soon as she’s gone, I down them, not even caring that the coffee strips a few layers off my throat.
“Dude,” Archer says, “what’s your damage this morning?”
I lean back in the booth, folding my hands behind my head. “I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk, and it feels like I have glass in my eyes. My head is going to explode.”
When someone jumps onto the seat of my booth, I nearly lay them out right then and there. Somehow I manage to restrain myself, and it’s a damn good thing I do. On the very small list of things I care about, my little brother, Cash, is at the very top.
“Hey, Luke,” he says in a voice that stabs me in the brain. His squirrel teeth pop out as he smiles at me.
“What’s up, little dude?” I ask, ruffling his wavy brown hair.
“Going to the beach with Charlie and his mom, but I saw you through the window and wanted to come say hi. You didn’t come home last night.” His smile quickly transforms into a frown.
I don’t go home most nights. It’s better that way, or at least I try to convince myself that it is. “I’m sorry, bud. Was Evelyn there?”
He shakes his head. “Nope, just me.”
A seven-year-old shouldn’t be spending the night at home alone, but our home life has never been ideal. I do what I can, but I’m not any type of role model for anyone.
“You know if you need me, you can always call.”
My heart unclenches when the smile returns. “I know, that’s ’cause you’re the best big brother.”
His words physically hurt me. If you reached into my chest and clamped a vice around my heart, it would feel exactly the same.
Sloane chooses that moment to reappear. The balancing act she’s doing with our food is seriously impressive. As she bends to put the plates on the table, I finally get my first hint of cleavage. So they do exist.
Divvying up the plates, she does a double take at Cash.
“Hi,” he says, his eyes all wide like a freaking cartoon character.
She drops down into a squat so she’s not looking down at him. “Hi, I’m Sloane.”
“I’m Cash.” When she gives him a smile, an answering one splits his face. “This is my brother, Luke. Do you know him?”
She glances up at me and then away. “We just met this morning.”
“He’s the best.”
If I wasn’t watching her so closely, I would’ve probably missed the way her mouth tightens at the corners.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” she says, and then stands back up. “Is there anything else I can get you guys?”
Archer shakes his head, unable to answer since he’s already shoveling food in his mouth. With that, she’s gone again. Cash’s eyes follow her the entire way, and I can’t entirely blame him. She’s more than nice to look at, and she probably tastes as good as she smells. But that fuck-off vibe she was broadcasting last night is back and directed right at me.
Cash bounces up from his seat. “Alright, Luke, I’ll see you later.” He dashes out the door, the laces from his untied sneaker flapping against the floor.
I eat my way through breakfast in no time flat, and as the aspirin kicks in, the tiny jackhammers in my brain call it a day. Thank God.
Chapter 4
Sloane
“C’mon, Sloane, didn’t we already have this conversation?” Blaire asks.
I glare at her as I slip out of the bathroom. “Yes, actually, we did. So can we drop it already?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “Are you going to take my advice?”
“Nope.” I skip down the stairs, my hand trailing over the wooden banister. Turning down the hallway lined with picture frames, I slip into the kitchen, with Blaire hot on my heels.
“Gran, please tell Sloane she’s being a complete jackass.”
Gran looks up from the carton of ice cream that she’s got her spoon buried in. She’s already put on her pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers and is sitting at the kitchen table. “Sloane, you’re being a jackass.”
I roll my eyes at her. “You don’t even know what we’re talking about.”
She taps her spoon against the table and then points it at me. “If it’s about that boy and she’s telling you not to mope around all summer, then I agree with her.”
I swear this woman knows everything. I’m going to check my bedroom later for hidden microphones.
“Gran, can you please tell Sloane that she should come out with me tonight?” Blaire folds her arms across her chest and smiles smugly.
“And where do you think you’re going?”
“The Edge.”
Gran harrumphs. “You both have your fake IDs?”
I shake my head at her in exasperation. Of course she’s condoning underage drinking. She’s always played by her own set of rules, which is one of the reasons Dad was less than thrilled we wanted to spend the summer here. But I’d asked nicely, begged, if I’m being honest. He’s never been able to say no to me, and I desperately needed this summer away.
“Yes ma’am,” Blaire responds, producing the IDs from the depths of her pocket.
“Well, then, Sloane, go have a good time with your sister.” Her words hold a sharp edge to them that tell me any argument would be pointless.
“Fine. Whatever.”
Blaire just grins at me. “Great, so if you want to go and—”
“Nope. I’m not changing.”
Her eyes drift over my frayed jean shorts, flip-flops, and blue tank top. It’s not much compared to her shorter shorts, halter top, and heels, but I really don’t care. I’m not trying to impress anyone.
Gran shrugs. “Choose your battles, my pet; at least she’s getting out of the house.”
Blaire sighs but gives in. Walking up to me, she stands close enough that her nose brushes mine. She shoves my ID into my pocket. “At least try to have a good time?”
I run a hand through my hair, brushing back a few honey-blond strands that drifted in front of my face. I don’t even know why I’m really resisting going out. I want to have a good time this summer.
“I’ll try.” Reaching over to the green ceramic dish on the counter
, I snag my key ring. “I’m driving.”
“Good, ’cause I’m drinking.” Blaire slings her arm around my shoulder, giving me a squeeze when we get to the car.
The Edge isn’t far, and it’s known for having a young crowd. That’s not to say that the owner doesn’t police it at all, but it’s a pretty lax establishment. Or at least that’s what I hear. It’s hard not to hear things in a place that has as much gossip as grains of sand on the beach.
The place doesn’t look like all that much, just a typical square building with vinyl siding, but its location makes it a prime spot. Situated right on the beach, the bar is of the indoor-outdoor variety. There’s music going every night, and even from here soft notes drift across the summer breeze toward us.
What was only a light hum of music outside blasts us in the face as we walk through the door. That and the smell of beer and grease are the first things I notice. Off to my left are a few pool tables, and the sound of cues striking their mark crack through the air like fireworks. The seventies called; they’d like their wood paneling back. In fact, everywhere I look is wood—the ceiling, the floor, the walls. One misplaced match and this place would burn to a crisp.
The bar is dead ahead, and that’s where Blaire heads first. The floor battles my shoes, the stickiness of it clinging to their soles. I’m going to pretend that the sticky stuff is soda. Squeezing through the crowd, Blaire leans forward onto the polished wood of the bar to set her assets on display.
When I see who’s coming to take our drink orders, I nearly groan out loud. Is he everywhere?
“What can I get for you lovely ladies?” Luke asks, flashing us a devilish smile.
When he smiles like that, it’s like staring straight at the sun. God, this guy makes me want to vomit.
“Rum and coke for me,” Blaire says, “and a water for her.”
If it’s possible, his smile widens. “Do you take your water on the rocks or neat?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. If I’d known he was going to be here, I never would have come. This is exactly the kind of guy I’m trying to avoid, that I’m trying to stay as far away from as possible. Not because I’m afraid of anything happening—that’s never gonna happen regardless of how gorgeous he is—but because the sight of him makes me see red. Can I not have one night out without the reminder of my ex slapping me in the face?
