And that breaks my heart all over again.
“Be prepared to feast,” Braxton boasts.
“I still can’t believe you cooked for me.” Cara’s words trail off as he places his prize dish on the counter. My mouth falls open. I have no words as I give Noah a side glance. He stares at me with the same horrified expression.
What did you do, big brother?
“What the hell is it?” Cara’s voice comes out low and crackly, breaking through the momentary silence.
Braxton tilts his head and eyes the imposter manicotti. The shells are still hard, burnt at the tips, but the slop disguised as marina sauce is watered down with grease. It’s revolting.
“Do you think I needed to cook it longer?” Braxton’s dejected voice causes my chest to constrict. Teasing aside, I feel sorry for my brother. He just wanted to do something nice for his girlfriend.
“The edges are already burnt. Did you precook the pasta?” I ask.
Noah presses his lips together and looks guilty. Although I have no idea why. Cara pokes a fork at one of the shells. The entire piece shatters, and a red blob flows from the center. Holy cow, that’s way undercooked.
“No. And apparently, I needed to cook the meat before stuffing the shells, too.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Cara puts her hand over her mouth to suppress a laugh.
“I’m not sure Miller should even eat that,” Garret says.
“I’ll order pizzas. There isn’t much food in the refrigerator.” Noah pulls out his phone and starts dialing when no one protests.
“I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise you.” Braxton leans down and kisses Cara on the forehead. The sentiment is sweet, even for my brother, and my gaze drifts to Noah. He stares at me with an indescribable look. One I don’t understand but feel clear to my bones. I close my eyes and take a calming breath as he recites our standard pizza order.
“All set,” Noah says and tucks his phone away.
“Fine.” Braxton fishes his keys out his pocket. “You and Shannon take the truck to meet them.”
My eyes fly open and lock with Noah’s. I’ve successfully avoided him for a month, and now, I have to be confined with him? Kill. Me. Now.
Chapter Four
Noah
Shannon’s doe-eyed expression couldn’t be any clearer. She doesn’t want to be inside the truck’s cabin with me any more than I with her. My protest dies on my lips when Braxton tosses me his keys. What am I supposed to say sorry, I took advantage of your sister, and now she hates me? Yeah, that will fly.
“We’ll be back,” I say instead as I snatch the keys midair.
“Good catch,” Shannon says.
“It’s what I do.” I chuckle at her little head shake and follow her lead to Braxton’s truck. I try hard not to look at her tight ass in those teeny-tiny white shorts but fail epically. Is the little shake to her hips intentional? If so, she’s definitely grabbed my attention. I curse under my breath. Being cooped up with her is going to be torturous.
When Braxton leaned down and kissed Cara on the forehead, she looked at him as if there was no one else in the room. I couldn’t help but sneak a glance at Shannon. What reflected back at me was anything but pure love. It was haunted and dark, masking her usually vibrant blue eyes. Knowing I put that look there guts me, but I can’t do anything to fix it. The odds are stacked against us. She doesn’t realize I’m destined to stay single. I can’t afford to fall for any girl especially one I care too deeply for. I can use the baseball excuse all day long, and I do because it works, but deep down, I’ll never be boyfriend material. I know this.
But if I ever were, Shannon Smith would be the girl for me.
We pile into the truck, neither one of us uttering a word. The engine roars to life, and I back out of the driveway, trying to come up with something to say. The perfect opportunity for an apology has presented itself. I’ll never have a better one. We’re completely alone without a chance of anyone overhearing us. But I can’t bring myself to say the words. If I mention that evening, the truth will spill from my mouth. She’ll know how much I actually do care about her. Her learning the truth would be more devastating than acting like an asshole.
Nothing can ever become of us.
I best keep that in mind.
“How’re classes going?” Excellent topic choice, idiot.
“They’re going okay. The computer-aided design class is interesting. I love the work. Oh!” Her eyes widen as excitement pushes the awkwardness between us away. I file the thought of how damn cute she looks to the corner of my brain. “The professor surprised us yesterday. We’re all competing for a spot to appear on Glamour Project.”
“And that’s a good thing?” I ask, but the gleam in her eyes screams yes.
“You have no idea. It’d be like winning the College World Series. Oh, wait, you already did. So, yeah, it feels like that.”
“Then, I hope you win because that was fucking awesome.”
“Me too. The department head will select two students to represent our school, and the producers have the final say as to who will join their show. Then, the lucky student competes against the other colleges. We won’t find out who that’ll that be until next semester during 3-D design class. Gah, I can’t wait to get my hands on the fabric.”
“You always were a nerd.”
That earns me a playful smack, but any gesture is worth it as long as the awkwardness between us breaks.
“Yeah, those classes I can rock. It’s just…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, and I don’t prompt. I already know she’s taking algebra this semester, and arithmetic has never been her strong suit.
“Hey, you’ll do fine.” I give her thigh a little nudge but withdraw my hand as if a snake bit me. Jesus, what am I thinking? The last thing I need to do is touch her smooth, tanned skin. I shift in my seat, sucking in some encouragement. Another mistake. Lilac and vanilla fill my nostrils and transport me back to the night where the taste of her left me hungrier than I’ve ever been. The night where I left with a raging hard-on that only got relieved by jacking off to the memory of how she felt.
Do I regret it?
No.
It’s hard to berate myself when what happened between us felt right. My only regret is leaving her. If circumstances were different, that night would have gone down a whole lot differently. That, I guarantee, but the fact remains she’s still my best friend’s sister, and I still can’t have her.
To pretend otherwise wouldn’t be fair to her.
“Thanks. I’ll be glad when the class is over.”
Her sweet voice breaks my thoughts, and I push all attraction to her aside and focus on what always works between us—our normalcy. “As cocky as your brother can be, I felt sorry for him back there.”
Her eyes widen as she belts out a laugh. “Oh, my goodness, that was awful. I’m so glad he noticed how bad it was before we had to pretend to like it.”
“I’m pretty sure we would’ve gotten food poisoning.”
“Gee-Gee has never cooked in his life. I can’t believe he even tried.”
“He wanted to do something special for Cara. I should’ve been more persistent on having him cook the noodles and meat.”
The corners of her mouth lift to a bright smile. “The look on Cara’s face was priceless. She tried so hard not to be repulsed. Her expression reminds me of the time he baked chocolate chip cookies for Mom.”
I chuckle as I pull into the parking lot to meet the pizza delivery guy. “I forgot about the infamous chocolate salt domes.”
Most of my childhood was spent over at the Smiths’s house. When my dad’s condition worsened and Mom had to be his primary care person, I couldn’t stand being at home. Mom was exhausted all the time. Dad was miserable. I was too young to help, and being the only child meant I was by myself. To fill the void, I went next door to Braxton’s house. I was a permanent staple in their household. The day Shannon’s talking about, I remember vividly. It was a year after my dad passe
d away, and things still weren’t great at home. Mom had another episode that morning, and Shannon could tell something was off with me. She begged Braxton to make cookies—her secret way of making me feel better.
“Do you remember your mom’s face when she walked into the kitchen?” I ask.
Her laugh fills the cabin with a sweet melody that works its way through me. It’s a sound I’ve heard my entire life, and this past month of not talking to her, I realize I miss it. I’ve missed her.
“She was trying so hard not to be mad at the mess. I don’t even know how flour ended up everywhere. Like, what were we doing?”
I remember. She had the smear on the side of her face that was so damn adorable. I tried brushing it off, but every attempt spread the smudge wider. My stomach hurt from us laughing so hard. When those bright-blue eyes turned toward me, I saw something in her I couldn’t explain, and the pain in my stomach was more like a restless fluttering. I was eleven and didn’t understand anything I felt or why I liked being near her. After that day, I never touched her again for a very long time.
The forgotten memories practically choke my words and shake my core. Shannon’s always meant something to me. I just didn’t realize how much until now. I swallow down the lump growing in my throat. “All we managed to do is make a mess of the kitchen and bake crappy tasting cookies.”
“They were horrible. Now that I’m older, I don’t know what he was thinking when he mixed the salt with the sugar. But to an eight-year-old, I didn’t realize the cup of salt looked off.”
“Your mom tried to eat one to make him feel better, but she wasn’t a very good actress.”
“She’s really not.” Shannon’s eyes sparkle, reminding me so much of the reason I like her. She’s genuine. I look away and pretend to scan the parking lot for the driver.
“It’s bogus the pizza joint delivers to the dorms but not to jock row,” I say, trying to veer away from memory lane.
“Why is that? It isn’t like the homes are that much farther.”
I shrug. “I think someone pulled a prank on them in the past. Probably, a cocky football player.”
My teasing earns me another smile, which makes me relax. Maybe too much because the shower comment from Dalton creeps into my thoughts. Despite Braxton constantly warning Dalton to not touch his sister, Shannon and he have gotten close. Half of the time, I think his flirting is to goad Braxton, but I still sense a vibe between them. And I don’t like it.
“So, what’s the deal between you and Dalton?” Shit, that doesn’t sound at all territorial. It’s like I can’t be satisfied without some level of awkwardness.
“What does it matter?”
Her tone comes out sharp and defensive and doesn’t squash any questions. Instead, it creates more. I remain quiet, trying to come back with a response that doesn’t make me sound like a crazed lunatic.
“Just wondering.” Yeah, that worked, idiot.
“We’re friends, for now.”
My jaw ticks. Did she have to add the words for now? I have no right to be mad or upset. She’s not mine to even have, but he’s definitely getting an earful later.
“He doesn’t need to be saying shit about taking showers together. Braxton would lose his mind.”
She pins me with a defying look. “Dalton isn’t afraid of my brother.”
Ouch. Was that a dig at me? Well played, Sprinkles.
“We don’t need any riffs between players on the team. This year is too important.” And same goes between Braxton and me, I remind myself.
She huffs, but it’s more in defeat than frustration. “Dalton was just joking. He doesn’t actually like me in that way.”
That’s not what I see, but I remain quiet. Finally, the pizza guy pulls beside us after I flash my lights at him. We toss the pizzas into the back seats, and I savor the aroma overpowering her scent.
This is going to be one hell of a long school year with her continually coming over. If I’m going to survive, then I have no choice but to distance myself from her.
As I sneak one last glance at the exposed flesh in her midriff section and those long, tanned legs, it’s hard remembering the reason why.
Chapter Five
Shannon
Talk about a much-needed relief. I park my ass in the front seat of design class, ready for a reprieve. After my morning math class, I need a mental escape into the design world. A world where I can actually excel and not feel so damn inadequate.
I pull my computer out of my duffel bag, not understanding the school’s ridiculous three math requirements. What does a fashion major need with math classes? Talk about overkill. Sure, I could’ve picked a more relaxed school to attend, but Cessna U’s art department is top-notch in the nation—one of the major selling points to me.
But all that prestige means nothing if I don’t pass this upcoming test. I can kiss my chances of competing for Glamour Project goodbye since all math requirements need to be completed before taking 3-D design class. Not only would my dreams be crushed, I’d have to suffer the humiliation of retaking algebra, of all classes, over and over. How many times can a person retake the same course? I really need to figure that out.
“Why do you think Professor Higgins is always late?”
I twist in my seat to face the guy on my right. Todd is his name. His deep brown eyes gleam like those of a five-year-old wanting to spill a secret. I’m surprised he isn’t bouncing in his seat. My gaze shifts to the round-faced clock beyond his shoulder. Sure enough, the secondhand ticks to the three-minute mark, marking Professor Higgins officially late.
“I don’t know, but she hasn’t been on time all semester.”
He leans in closer and drops his voice. “I heard she’s getting it on with Professor Scott. I bet that’s why she’s always late.”
“Okay.” I laugh. “Who’s Professor Scott?”
Todd’s mouth drops while his hand covers his heart. “He’s the department head and one of the judges for the contest. How do you not know this?”
“Oh, well, I didn’t pay much attention to the specifics. I was too excited.” Being able to get on the Glamour Projects runway would be a dream come true.
“He’ll be the one you need to impress.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” My phone buzzes and displays Dalton’s photo. It’s one I took the other day while we were working out. He wears that half-cocked grin, and the ends of his dark hair curl from the sweat. It’s a cute picture of him, I have to admit.
“Who is that? He’s delish. Make his photo bigger.”
“How’d you even see it?” Seriously, the guy must have Superman vision. The icon is so tiny.
“Please, I have spidey-hotness radar, and it’s on full alert.”
“He’s Dalton Boyd. Wildcat’s first baseman.”
“Mmm, jocks usually aren’t my thing, but sign me up to play.”
I can only wish they weren’t my thing.
A hand smacks the top of my desk. I whip my head to the sound and to a familiar brunette. My back stiffens.
“They aren’t Shannon’s thing either. Right?” Marla stares directly at me. “Your brother would kill any teammate for hitting on you.”
Her roundabout way of warning me off Noah won’t work. Neither she nor my brother will keep me from him. That is if he wanted me. But a week has passed since our talk in Braxton’s truck. He hasn’t made any romantic advances. In fact, the last time I was there, I’m pretty sure he made it a point to disappear. I can’t prove it, but he wasn’t home, making Marla’s warning a non-issue.
“My brother isn’t my keeper.” I say, finding my spine. My eyes narrow. I won’t be the loser in this staring game she initiated. If there’s anything I’d learned throughout the years, it is to not show intimidation.
“Sure. You keep telling yourself that.” She caves first and whirls past me, heading to her usual seat in the back row. I don’t miss the smirk on her face. She clearly thinks she won whatever pissing contest she’s fabricate
d in her mind. I wish I could say with confidence she’s wrong, but she’s not.
Todd makes a cat-like sound, pulling my attention back to him. “Somebody has an enemy. Or should I say frenemy? I clearly detected some passive aggression there.”
“I have no idea why,” I lie. “I’m Shannon Smith, by the way.”
“Todd Flick. Wait, your brother’s Braxton, as in modern day Babe Ruth?”
“The very one.”
“We have to become besties. You know this, right?”
“I thought you said you weren’t into athletes?”
“Sweetie, I say a lot of shit. But I make exceptions for the hotties.”
I laugh, but I see why Cara hid who her brother was last year. “I guess we’re besties then.”
His retort is cut short by the professor walking in. Her hair is slightly messy, her lips puffy and swollen, and her skirt skewed. Todd raises an I-told-you-so eyebrow, and I have to stifle my laugh. At least, someone is having some fun. As I concentrate on the assignment, I can’t help but linger on Marla’s unspoken warning and wonder why she felt compelled to issue it.
* * *
“Have you been having sex? You sound winded.”
I laugh at my best friend’s greeting. Cindy never fails to enlighten my mood. I need this call, especially after my earlier encounter with Marla. Shifting my gym bag to my shoulder, I balance the phone in my other hand and step from the elevator into my dorm’s hallway. The air-conditioning vent blasts cold air against my sticky torso. I shiver. “Ha! I worked up a sweat all right but not from anything fun, believe me. What’s up?”
“I hope you’re free this weekend because I’m coming to visit.”
Dalton mentioned Garret’s birthday party Saturday night during our workout. Last year, I had a blast despite my brother’s refusal to let me drink. But then again, most of that fun came from hanging with Noah. Oh God. My feet falter as the sinking realization hits. He wasn’t anything more to me than my babysitter. No wonder, he thinks of me as a baby. I can’t even drink.
Behind the Count: Cessna U Wildcats Book Two Page 4
