Rule #1

by T. A Richards Neville

  In the boxy, sweat-heavy kitchen, I easily spot the six-foot-plus frame of Hunter Matthew, his dark head standing taller than most others. And standing beside him, at least six inches shorter, is the source for why I wasn’t allowed to change out of my fishnets.

  “Ohmygod,” Maddie whooshes out in one long breath. “Act like you didn’t see him.”

  I laugh. “Not hard, considering he doesn’t know we’re here.”

  “Right.” Maddie gives me a deadpan look. “Are we still pretending that Hunter isn’t into you? Because I’m going to need to cash in on that, and soon, because if you hooking up with Colin’s BFF is what it’ll take to get me noticed, you better pucker up, girl.”

  “Not happening.” I’ve been friendly with Hunter for too long to turn it into anything more. I mean, awkward much? He’s more like my brother. Really long-distant brother. He’s cute in that less obvious, more dorky way. But you don’t make out with your brother. That’s just… illegal.

  “Okay.” Maddie sucks in a breath, her nose wrinkling when we both catch a whopping whiff of eye-watering BO at the exact same moment. “Let’s pretend to get a drink.”

  “Or,” I say with a wide grin, “we could just actually get a drink, since we’re in the kitchen and there’s liquor covering that entire counter and folding table over there. We’d look less like dumbasses, and that’s always my first goal for the day. One of the more reachable ones, anyway.”

  “I’ll have a vodka Coke.” Maddie’s back is to Colin and Hunter, the fingers on her right hand twirling her sleek strands of hair that would have taken her all of two seconds to straighten.

  I’m pulling off my finest portrayal of ignorance, but I can feel Hunter’s eyes on me like hot coals burning through my skin and into my lying soul. Just knowing I have eyes on me makes the simple task of pouring Smirnoff into two Solo cups ten times harder than it needs to be. I almost spill the flammable liquid twice, and when I twist the cap on the Coke bottle, the nineties one-hit wonder playing masks the tell-tale hiss that this has recently been shook, and brown froth and soda squirts violently from the seal, soaking my hands, neck, and shirt.

  I hold the offending bottle away from me like it’s a venomous snake, and moronic laughter from two feet over makes it clear who was responsible.

  “Yeah, very funny.” I throw a narrow-eyed look at the two assholes doubled over at their dickishness. “Didn’t realize there was a children’s section in here.”

  My skin sticky with diet soda, I tell a wide-eyed, mortified Maddie to grab our cups while I go clean up in the bathroom.

  Familiar with the layout, and too pissed to care about the short line that’s formed in the hallway, I barge my way to the front, lucking out when Booker Jones pulls open the door and walks out. He scrubs a hand over the top of his short brown hair, his gaze steadily rising from my feet to my face. He cocks an eyebrow, a lopsided grin slowly forming. “Mint Choc Chip, you’re all wet. Need a hand? Although, I’ll probably just get you more wet.”

  I don’t even dignify that with a response.

  Water from the faucet doesn’t do anything except what Booker promised: make me more wet. And I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror with a darker damp patch over my chest than when I came in here.

  With my coat draped over my arm, and no hope of Maddie seeing reason in why I’d have to leave for a few minutes to change clothes, I let myself out into the hallway, tossing a meek apology at the small, frowny girl who’s next in line.

  I wore my hair up for work tonight, so at least it was saved from the brutal Coke attack, and I can go another day relying on my trusty dry shampoo.

  In the kitchen, Maddie’s the filling for a Colin-Hunter sandwich, leaning her back against the counter with a drink in her hand. I’m not sure if I should bust in on the moment or if it’s too early for that and I risk breaking the threesome apart, so I grab a cup and fill it from the keg that’s in here. The soda bottles aren’t safe, I know that now. And the guys here are middle-grade, braindead dicks.

  “Hey, Brooke!” That’s Maddie’s voice, and when I look back to where she is, she’s waving for me to come over.

  That answers that, then.

  With an inward sigh, I talk my legs into moving, and I smile at Hunter and Colin.

  “Too bad about your clothes,” Hunter points out rather unhelpfully. “You can throw that in one of the bedrooms.” He motions to my coat.

  “No thanks. I’d like to leave here as wealthy as I came.”

  Colin laughs. But that’s Colin, always laughing and smiling. I’m not attracted to him, but I can see why someone else would be. He’s the definition of easy going, and he’s got a pop-star’s cherubic face. He’s absolutely too short for me, though, and based on height alone, he’s a confirmed ‘NO’ in the potential suitor category.

  We indulge in small talk, Maddie relying on me to carry the conversation, like always, and provide the jokes that make Colin’s face light up like it’s the fourth of July and I’m the loudest, most pretty firework in the sky. We discuss cars, European soccer (that’s mostly Colin), and what TV shows we’re watching while Maddie stares adoringly at a clueless Colin. She hasn’t got much input on any of the topics besides what season she’s up to on Riverdale. No one can relate, for obvious reasons, but my best friend’s happy listening to the silvery melody of Colin’s voice. If they do ever get together, they won’t have a single thing in common, so the chemistry’s going to need to be explosive.

  Since Colin was the goal, and for once he came to Maddie, the night’s reached its peak early. Nothing from this point on can top what’s happening right now, and that means I’m not moving from this spot any time soon.

  I’ve lost track of time, and our four-person group in the kitchen’s doubled in numbers, Booker Jones physically unable to keep away and miss out on the opportunity to pester me.

  A few curious glances coast our way when Booker slings his arm around my shoulders, but the gesture’s purely platonic. I’m the bait that reels the guys in with my witty banter and sarcastic comments, but I’m yet to be the main catch. That’s Madison’s domain, and territory I’ve never stepped foot in before.

  I’ve been on my feet now for over fourteen hours, and it’s gotta be at least one-thirty in the morning.

  Lifting Booker’s arm, I take myself and my drink in search of a seat, letting Maddie know where I’m going. She’s so deep in pretending to know what the hell Colin’s talking about that she only nods at me, quite happy for me to leave her alone for a little while. I walk away feeling strangely proud.

  The living room’s less crowded now, and I head straight for the couch. Grand Theft Auto 5 is on the wall-mounted flatscreen. The PlayStation’s sitting on the floor below it, the wires trailing over the wood laminate to the outlet, pinned to the wall with pieces of duct tape.

  The guy on the couch, ducking and cursing whenever someone walks directly in front of the flatscreen, fails his mission. It doesn’t take long for recognition to set in, and he’s recognized me too, tearing his eyes from the failed mission in a double glance at me standing on the fringes with my drink in my hand and my bulky coat tied around my waist.

  What the hell must I look like?

  He’s seen me now, so I take myself over to the couch and plonk down on the armrest, unfastening my coat to use as a makeshift pillow to stand my drink on. It’s also hiding my belly, so it’s doubly useful. Not that it’s sticking out right now, but old habits die hard.

  He straightens his spine, clutching the controller in two hands. “Brooke, right?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “King of Rome, right?”

  “Reigning for twenty years now.” Just his smile makes me smile.

  Roman stretches out his long jean-clad legs. Wearing a white Under Armour windbreaker, he doesn’t look like he’s staying, or he’s only just arrived. I prefer the latter.

  “Can I have a go?” I ask, nodding to the TV. I’m bored with this cup of beer I’ve been carrying with me for m
ost of the night.

  Roman hands me the controller and settles into his seat, palms smoothing over his thighs as he spreads them wider. “Can’t do any worse than I just did.”

  Turns out I can, the car carrier on the screen nose-diving over the hills toward the Los Santos ocean. Roman’s now going to have to start over. Again. “Sorry,” I say, handing him the controller back. “Got a little bit carried away there.”

  “I’ve already completed this game at home. I was just killing time with it.” Roman sets down the controller on the floor between his feet, leaving the game idle. “I saw you this afternoon.”

  “You did?” I don’t love where this might be going. My facial muscles ready for the cringe.

  “You were jogging near campus with your friend.”

  “Oh. Maddie.” Then it dawns. “That was you in the truck?” Wow. I did not look my best then. I was wearing my comfies to run in. I swear, I’m constantly forgetting people have eyes and can actually see me.

  Roman’s half-smile’s disarming, and I get a little distracted by it, my insides doing this weird flip-flop thing that I am definitely not okay with.

  “I’m adding it to my tally of you popping-up everywhere I go.”

  “That’s a public road. Have you ever thought it’s you turning up everywhere I go?”

  Roman’s half-smile grows into a full, wide one. “No question, it’s you. So, you were with… Maddie?”

  Right. Why had I not been expecting this?

  I nod. “My best friend. Do you know her?” My soul aches. How ridiculous does that sound? Not because I’m jealous and want Roman for myself, because I don’t. Not at all. A girl knows when to stay in her lane. Just sometimes being the buffer can be draining. Five minutes in my feelings and I’ll be over it. Right now, though, I keep my disappointment from showing.

  “I don’t know her. I might’ve seen her once or twice, but that’s about it. Most I spoke to her was when I was with you.”

  The guy beside Roman asks if he’s playing the game, and Roman picks up the controller and hands it to him.

  “She seeing anyone?” he asks me, his question catching me off-guard.

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Maddie.”

  And there it is. The dreaded question. I feel myself deflating, but I don’t know why I expected any different. Why would he not notice her? And why do I suddenly care that he has?

  “She isn’t seeing anyone, but she is interested in someone. That Colin guy from the bar the other night. Colin O’Shae.”

  “Colin,” Roman repeats. “Right. I remember hearing that.” Weirdly, he looks impressed with the information. “Yeah, he’s got a girlfriend.”

  “Are you sure?” I’m disgruntled on Maddie’s behalf. She’s been trying so hard for him, and yeah, we’d heard mutterings of a girl before Roman brought it up, but until we’re faced with some hard, concrete evidence, those are just rumors. “I have never seen him with the same girl. Not, like, regularly or anything. And nothing beyond friendly.”

  Sitting forward, Roman leans his forearms on his thighs. “I mean, I’m pretty sure. I could find out for you if your girl’s got it really bad. Col’s cool, but if she’s waiting for him to come to her, she’ll be left hanging till she’s on her death bed.”

  “Yeah.” I nod, nipping the inside of my mouth with my teeth. “I got that about him. It’s like he’s shy. It’s cute.”

  One of Roman’s eyebrows crimps. Likely because I just used the word ‘cute’ to describe his shy friend. “Let me find out if he is linked-up, and I’ll get back to you.”

  That’s not my ears playing tricks on me, is it?

  “You’d do that?”

  “If you want me to. I’m not asking him out for her, but…”

  Uh, we’ll take anything, thank you very much. I’m squeezing Roman for every drop of knowledge he has.

  “West said you have a class with him?” I gently press.

  “Mondays and Fridays.”

  “So, you’ll see him this Monday?” I’m not trying to be pushy, but… I kinda am.

  “I’ll see him tomorrow at the gym before he heads out to soccer practice.”

  “You will?” It’s so sad how much that excites me, but Maddie’s going to absolutely freak. I’m loving all this inside info. I’m officially the inside man.

  It’s difficult to tell whether Roman’s smiling or frowning, but either way, there’s a very strong chance I’m starting to creep him out. Oh, well.

  “Seven-thirty session, but Col will be up from around six.”

  I wince. “On a Sunday? Why so early?”

  Roman’s smirk slowly lifts one corner of his mouth. “Because that’s what time I set his alarm to go off.”

  Laughter trickles from my lips picturing Colin being woken up at such an obscene time. And Roman’s immature as hell.

  I love it.

  Adjusting the stiff, zipped-up neck on his white jacket, Roman says, “That tattoo you drew West is pretty amazing. Was that an original design, or…?”

  They’ve been talking about me, and he likes my drawing. My heart warms all on its own.

  “The black widow? Yes and no. I drew her from reference, then put my own spin on it. West told me he’d played around with the idea of 3D, and for a statement tattoo like that, I totally agreed. That was the first drawing I did for him, and he was happy with it. It worked out.”

  “You could be making bank.”

  Another rush of heat under my skin.

  “I make some money through advertisements, and it’s going up a little bit now I’m building my subscribers. I’ve thought about doing commissions, but… I dunno. Seems contrived when I’m still learning. It’s like one day I love my work, the next I hate it. Literally can’t stand it.”

  Roman nods in understanding. “I think that’s every creative type. You got any tattoos?”

  I hold out my right hand and lift up my engagement finger where honey has been inked in italics. Then I turn my hand over and show him the small, colored bee on the meaty part of my palm. The final tattoo is a tiny black heart below my pinkie fingernail on my left hand.

  “You draw those, too?” he asks. He’s got my fingers in his hand while he checks out the yellow and black bumblebee, his thumb brushing over the 3D ink.

  “Uh-huh. I didn’t want anything complicated, or too big and noticeable. It took me a while to get the bee just right. I wouldn’t do it again, though. These hurt like hell even though they’re only small.”

  “Nice.” I miss Roman’s hand on me the second he releases my fingers. “They look good.”

  “Do you have any?” I ask. Not that I’m hoping there’s any reason for him to go taking his jacket and shirt off to show me.

  “Nah. But I would, if I saw the right one. If it’s on my body for life, I don’t want any regrets ten years down the line.”

  A blond girl standing on the other side of the room catches my eye. Well, not exactly her, but the cropped yellow shirt she’s wearing with the sleeves ripped off and the underside of her black bra showing. “Isn’t that the girl you’re trying to hide from?” I say to Roman.

  His gaze swings in the direction I’m looking, and then he immediately turns his face away. “Shit.”

  “She’s looking right at you,” I say, smiling. I drop my head and bring my fingers to my eyebrow, hand curved around the side of my face when she moves her gaze to me. Meeting Roman’s eyes, I shake my head at the message he’s conveying in them. “No,” I warn under my breath, struggling not to laugh. Everything’s funnier when it shouldn’t be.

  “Just sit on my knee.” His smile is wolfish, and I know he isn’t taking no for an answer.

  “I’m too heavy,” I protest. I’ll squash him. His college hockey career will be over.

  “Are you?” he asks in amusement. “I’ll be the judge of that. Get down here, Brooke, or I’ll pull you down and you might end up on the floor. Then everyone here will be laughing at you, including me.”

>   I’m about to launch into my own threats when Roman hooks an arm around my waist and drags me from the arm of the chair right onto his lap. I shift forward, out of the awkward position, but then his hand flattening over my bare stomach straps me in place, and I stop fighting him. I was not ready for anyone touching me there, and I inhale a quick, sharp breath through my nose, praying he didn’t feel how naturally soft I am. The only way I’m getting abs is if I draw them on.

  I feel his lips at my ear as he says in a low voice, “Sit back.”

  I can’t stop or slow down the shiver from his warm breath on my skin, or his smooth, deep timbre, but hopefully he doesn’t notice the effect his vocal chords are having on me. The ear’s a sensitive place. Sloth from The Goonies could’ve been behind me and I’d have reacted the same. Or so I tell myself.

  I shuffle back over his thighs, and I’m cringing inside. I feel like I’m holding some of my weight back, but who the hell knows? Roman’s muscles could be dead by now. Completely mangled. Useless.

  I turn my body on an angle so I can see his face, one of my legs draped over his knee and my other foot on the floor. “You’re being obvious,” I tell him.

  The palm of his left hand settles on my thigh, underneath my bundled coat, and I can feel his heart beating against the side of my arm. “I don’t care.”

  I search his hazel eyes, never sure when he’s being serious or just messing with me. “What are you going to do when I’m not here?”

  The fingers on Roman’s other hand trace patterns over the small of my back, the action almost unconscious. “You could give me your phone number, and I can make sure you’re there.”

  I laugh. Gotta be messing with me. “Not a chance.”

  His smug smirk is pure confidence. “As I remember it, you don’t have a choice.”

  “This is America, buddy. I have a choice.”

  “What’s this?” Slipping his fingers under the hem of my shirt, I move my torso in sync to his gentle tugging to show him the logo above my breast. “Champ’s,” he reads. “You work there?”

  I smile lamely. “No, I just really love their affordable clothing line.”