Until We Break

by Jamie Howard

  Speculation gleams in Gran’s eyes, but before she can unload whatever comment she’s preparing, Blaire returns, her arms weighed down from her trip to the kitchen. Grateful for the interruption, I help her lower everything down onto the table.

  I twist the bottles so I can read the labels, then turn to Cash. “Okay, we’ve got hot fudge, caramel sauce, sprinkles, and Maraschino cherries. Whatta ya want?”

  He rubs his hands together. “All of it.”

  * * *

  Someone’s knocking on the door again. What the hell? Can a girl not sleep around here?

  At some point Gran abandoned us for her bed, but Blaire, Cash, and I crashed in the living room. Blaire’s sprawled out in the window seat snoring like a trucker, and Cash is curled into a little ball on the sofa, his lips puffing out with every exhalation. Somehow I ended up in the recliner. I’ve got a serious kink in my neck this morning.

  Covering a yawn with my fist, I shuffle to the front door and spy a disgruntled Luke through the window. He looks a little worse for wear and shoves a hand in his front pocket when I open the door. As always, he’s got the bed-head thing going on, but his eyes are bloodshot and he reeks of perfume.

  I can’t imagine what he must have been doing last night, or maybe even this morning.

  I shake the thought out of my head. No, if we’re going to be friends I have to stop being so judgmental.

  “Morning, Luke.”

  He brushes by me and through the door.

  “Sure, come on in,” I mutter. At least his little brother has manners.

  Coming to a halt outside the living room, he takes in the scene. Honestly, it looks like a hurricane blew through. There are empty ice cream bowls on the coffee table, an empty can of whipped cream next to the lamp, a stack of board games, and a still set-up game of Mouse Trap on the floor.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but I press a finger to my lips and motion toward the kitchen.

  The tile is cold against my bare feet, and through the window, I can see the sun just making its debut. God, what time is it?

  “Coffee?” I ask.

  He rubs at his face with his hand, but nods. Once it’s done brewing and the kitchen is filled with its aroma, I pour out a mug and pass it to him. I boost myself up onto the counter and wrap my fingers around my own cup, absorbing its warmth through my palms.

  I’m exhausted and I’m hoping the coffee will give me the kick start I need. If I slept four hours last night, I’m lucky.

  I’m yawning again when Luke says, “I’m sorry Cash bothered you guys last night.”

  I wave a hand at him. “Don’t worry about it, and it wasn’t a bother. We actually had a pretty fun time. You should probably get your phone replaced, though. He said he tried to call you.”

  Luke frowns into his coffee. “I’ve been meaning to do that.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I still don’t know where I left the damn thing.”

  I open my mouth to say something snappish but close it again.

  “What?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “In the interest of friendship, I’m going to keep that comment to myself.”

  “Friendship?”

  I glance up at him to find him watching me intently. “Are we not friends anymore?”

  He quirks his head to the side. “You still want to be friends with me?”

  It’s too early for this conversation; my brain is barely functioning. Or maybe my brain’s functioning just fine, but he’s still drunk. I’m not sure. “Is there a reason I wouldn’t want to be friends with you?”

  He sighs. “I guess not. Look, about the party—”

  I wave my hands at him and then use them to cover my face. I hope he can’t see my flaming cheeks through my fingers. “Let’s not talk about it.” I spread my fingers so I can peek through them. “Unless … you want me to apologize? Is that why you don’t want to be friends with me?”

  He leans back in his chair and looks at me like I’m an alien from another planet. “First, I never said I didn’t want to be your friend. Second, what exactly are you apologizing for?”

  I roll my eyes and slide off the counter. I can’t possibly look him in the face and say this, so I rinse out my cup in the sink. “For getting drunk and trying to take advantage of you. It’s okay that you’re not interested in me. I get it. Speaking of which, as a friend I’m letting you know that Blaire is quite interested in you, if she happens to be more your style.”

  I’m not even sure how I managed to force those words out of my mouth. I don’t know what the big deal is. I don’t have any claim over Luke. Hell, half the time I don’t even like him. At this very moment, he’s sitting in my kitchen and I can actually see a trace of lip gloss smeared on his collar.

  “I … what … umm…”

  Yup, he’s still drunk.

  Racing like a bullet, Cash hurtles down the hallway and throws himself at Luke. At least Luke has the presence of mind to catch him. His chair rocks up on two legs, but thankfully it thumps back to the floor without tipping over.

  “Hey, little dude. I’m sorry I didn’t get your call last night.”

  “It’s okay. Sloane and me and Blaire, we played Chutes and Ladders and ate ice cream and whipped cream. We finished off an entire can! Hot fudge too. It was awesome!” With every word that comes screeching out of Cash’s mouth, Luke flinches like someone’s jabbing him with needles.

  As Cash continues to recount our evening, I make a quick pit stop in the bathroom for some aspirin. Just call me the aspirin fairy. This time when I hold out my hand to Luke, he turns his palm up to accept my offering.

  “Thank you,” he mouths, not wanting to interrupt Cash’s unceasing stream of words. He levels that blinding smile in my direction, and it feels like someone sucker punched me in the gut. My heart trips and falls flat on its face.

  No. Oh, no. This is not happening. I do not have actual feelings for Luke Evans.

  Dear God in heaven, what is wrong with me?

  Chapter 17

  Luke

  I pluck the bottle of Jack Daniel’s from its designated spot and pour out a double shot. I slide it across the bar to the guy who ordered it and stick his cash in the register. Another ten minutes, my shift will be over, and I’ll be outta here.

  My conversation with Sloane this morning has been playing on repeat in my head all day long. First, she apologized for taking advantage of me. Me. That was definitely a first. Somehow she’s gotten the impression that I’m not interested in her. Where she managed to come up with that, I have no fucking clue. When she then offered her sister up to me on a silver platter, all the words in my brain rushed for the nearest exit. Thank God Cash interrupted us, because I have no idea what would have come tumbling out of my mouth.

  Talk about a kick to the nuts. She might as well have said, “Gee, Luke, while I’d rather get eaten alive by hyenas than sleep with you, feel free to screw my sister!”

  I’d been steering clear of Sloane lately, trying to avoid that awkward conversation where she tells me that her family doesn’t want me hanging around her. As it turns out, it seems like it was for nothing. What I can’t figure out is why Lucy or Bunny hasn’t said anything to her. Why wait? Sloane and I aren’t even involved, so it’s not like she’d get overly offended on my behalf. Just a quick conversation, then wham, bam, thank you ma’am—see ya, Luke Evans.

  Passing out another round of Coronas to a group of college guys, I duck down underneath the bar to restock some of the bottles.

  As I do, I hear a muttered, “Where did he go?”

  “Relax, Mel, he’ll be back in a second. He’s probably off servicing the Avery girl.”

  There’s a high-pitched laugh that’s about a decibel away from shattering glass. “You’re terrible, Ally.”

  “What? It’s true. Someone saw him coming out of her house super early this morning. They’re totally sleeping together.”

  She snorts. “Who isn’t he sleeping with?”

  “We
ll, yeah, but how classless is she? I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a fantastic lay, but why would she want to saddle herself with the entire town’s leftovers?”

  “And of course he’s not complaining. I saw him driving around in her Maserati the other day.”

  One of them scoffs in disgust. “I don’t care how rich that slut is; I refuse to let her take my favorite toy off the market. Someone needs to teach that bitch how to share.”

  Having heard more than enough, I stand back up. I flash a wide smile in Ally and Mel’s direction, and their faces turn beet red. Serves them right for being such gossipy bitches.

  “Ladies, I’m sorry about the wait, but I’m actually off the clock. Jerry should be here any minute to get you some refills. Have a lovely night.”

  I shove my way out the back door and hop down the stairs onto the beach. The stars are out in full force tonight, and though it’s quiet right here, the blaze of the fire from the party down the beach lights up the night sky with an orange glow.

  I should have known that people would be talking about Sloane and me. I never stick around the same girl for an extended period of time, so they’re definitely taking note. They can say what they want about me—I don’t give a shit—but I don’t want them talking crap about her just because we’re hanging out.

  For Sloane’s sake, it might be a smart idea for me to keep my distance from her. The last thing she needs is for her reputation to be tarnished by the likes of me. We can still be friends, but maybe more discreetly, so that people don’t get the wrong impression.

  As I stroll up to the party, I pass the black pickup truck that someone drove onto the beach, the music from the stereo blasting through the open windows. The bonfire is blazing, and some hungry soul has a hotdog skewered at the end of a stick and thrust into the flames. The hungry soul is also an inattentive soul, and as he cranes his neck to stare at some girl’s round ass, his hotdog bursts into flames, its skin curling and turning black.

  “Evans!”

  “Archer.” He slaps my hand in greeting and passes me a beer.

  “Wasn’t sure I’d be seeing you tonight.”

  I take a long sip, letting the cold beer drain down my parched throat. “Why’s that?”

  He shrugs. “Figured you and Sloane would be cozied up somewhere. I hear she’s some sort of sex addict and she’s practically got you tied up in her bedroom.”

  I go to her house to pick up my brother, and somehow that turns into her being a sex fiend. I shake my head. “We’re not sleeping together. We’re just friends.”

  Archer makes a face. “Sure, man, whatever you say.” His eyes flick past me and then back. He rolls his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling up. I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey,” Sloane says, taking a sip of her drink. Her cheeks are this rosy pink color, but I can’t tell if it’s from drinking or from the warmth of the fire.

  It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her. She’s got her hair down, and with the way the firelight is hitting it, it looks like liquid gold. The cleavage has been set free in a skimpy tube top, and it looks like she borrowed a pair of Blaire’s skimpy jean shorts. Or maybe they’re hers—who knows?

  “Hey yourself. Having a good time?”

  She nods and smiles up at me. “I really am. Did you finally remember to go get a new phone?”

  “Why? Do you want to ask me for my number?”

  She laughs and shoves me. “Ass.”

  Her laughter draws more than one curious glance our way. A few girls standing behind her whisper behind their hands and then giggle.

  I take a slow step back from her. “Listen, Sloane, I know we’re just starting to work on this whole friends thing, but I think it might be a good idea if we give each other some space.”

  The infectious smile that’s been lounging on her face slips. She takes a look around us and then nods her head, her eyes dropping down to stare into her cup. “Right, of course. Sorry.”

  I reach out for her, but my hand closes around empty air. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s—”

  She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with you some other time.”

  She takes two quick steps backward, then turns around and walks away. I head over to the keg for another beer but keep an eye on her as I do. Does she have to look so sexy when I’m trying to do the right thing here?

  Garrett goes up to her and whispers something in her ear. Her laughter carries on the air so that even standing over here I can hear it. When he reaches out a finger to trace the small expanse of her flat belly between her low-rise shorts and her top, I’m hit by a blinding wave of rage.

  “Hey there, Luke, you’re looking a little wound up.” A fingernail traces its way down my bicep, and I look down into inviting espresso-colored eyes. Kira, Kyra, Kara, something like that. She places her hands on my shoulders and stands on her toes so she can whisper in my ear. “Maybe I can help you release some of that tension.” Her tongue darts out and traces the edge of my earlobe.

  Over the leaping flames, Sloane’s eyes find mine. She takes in the situation with an assessing gaze. With a smile, she raises her glass toward me in a salute. I force myself to smile back, though it takes an effort.

  The last thing I want to do is smile, because in this moment it feels like she took a sharp little toothpick and jabbed it right through my heart. It doesn’t leave a big hole behind, just a tiny puncture that will slowly make me bleed to death.

  Chapter 18

  Sloane

  I stitch a smile on my face that is so fake I’m sure he must see through it. My arm feels like lead as I lift my cup up to him in a toast. This is what friends do, right? Be happy for their friends when they’re going to get laid?

  When he gives me that smile, that self-satisfied smirk, little fissures splinter through my heart. I am seriously the dumbest person on the entire planet. Maybe even the entire solar system. There are probably aliens with more sense than me.

  Blaire materializes at my side and zeros in on the fact that I’m letting some guy touch me, her eyes tracing a path from his hand up to my face. What’s his name again? I wasn’t even paying attention. I’m too busy spying on Luke to actually care what’s happening right in front of me.

  I’m such an idiot. I should have known he wouldn’t want me hanging around him. With me next to him, none of the girls would step within a ten-foot radius. I’m like his female repellent.

  Blaire bumps my hip with hers. “What’s with the smile?”

  The guy—Gary maybe?—seems disappointed that I’m not interested, but he says something about catching up with me later, before slipping into the crowd.

  I turn to Blaire. “What smile?”

  She widens her eyes. “Right now you look like a psych patient who’s had one too many electroshock treatments.”

  That gets me to laugh, really laugh. “I was trying out the whole ‘If you act happy, you’ll feel happy’ thing.”

  She nods and wraps a hand around her hip. Gesturing with her head, she says, “I see I’m too late to hop on the Luke train tonight.”

  I follow her gaze to where Luke’s lounging in a chair with that girl sitting on his knee. Her hand rests against his thigh, just above the rip in the knee of his jeans. At least it isn’t down his pants. Thank God for small miracles.

  “You have to get here really early if you’re hoping to buy a ticket on that ride.”

  “Seriously,” she mutters. “Look, not to be a party pooper or anything, but I’m not really feeling it tonight.”

  I blow out a breath and let the smile drop. “Me either. Wanna get outta here?”

  “Please. Oh, but can we stop for ice cream on the way home?”

  “Fine, but you’re buying.”

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  Blaire looks like a floating head as she peers around the doorjamb of my room. “You coming out with me tonight?”

  “I’m gonna pass,” I say, turning back to the book I�
��ve been reading. Somehow spending the night with these characters seems much more appealing than heading to another party with Blaire. Plus, I’m less likely to run into Luke here. Not that I’m exactly avoiding him; I’m just staying out of his way and making sure I don’t put a damper on his sexual exploits. It’s the friendly thing to do.

  Although, in the friend department, Luke isn’t holding up his end of the bargain. You’d think maybe he’d call to see how I’m doing. But he hasn’t called. I checked, more times than I can count. An embarrassing amount of times. I’m so pathetic.

  This crush I have on Luke is going to be the death of me. Or at least my heart. Stupid girl.

  Blaire’s body finally joins her head in the doorway. “We’re going to have f-u-n.”

  “The thing you don’t seem to understand is that for me, fun does not necessarily have to include people or parties.” I flip to the next page.

  “You’ve barely come out with me all week,” she whines. “At least tell me you have some riveting plans for tonight and that you’re not going to sit here in your room. All night. Reading that book.” She stares at the aforementioned book like it’s a cockroach she wants to stomp on.

  “Will it appease you if I go for a walk on the beach?” I ask, sticking a bookmark between the gritty old pages.

  “Not really, but it’s something.”

  She continues to stand there, tapping her bare foot against the floor.

  “Is there something else you need, Blaire?”

  “Nope, but I’m not leaving until you get your butt out of here.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Fine.” I scoop up my overly neglected camera from the desk and slip the strap over my neck.

  Following me down the hallway and out through the back door, she stops as I cross the deck and hop down the stairs into the sand. “Have a good night, Sloane!”

  Closing the door with a slam that rattles the blinds, she disappears from view.