Delia laughed, a harsh sound that made Sy bristle with a protective feeling towards Amy.
“The way she came practically running out of her room as soon as you entered the house—it was adorable! She’d sit as close to you as she could, talk to you about football, smile at you while batting her lashes. So cute. Embarrassing but cute.”
Maybe Sy shouldn’t have been surprised by this. He obviously hadn’t seen either sister very clearly. It bothered him the way Delia was talking about Amy, yet at the same time, Sy felt a surge of adrenaline at the thought that Amy used to have a crush on him.
How did she feel now? Sy’s gaze kept flicking toward the house. The need to extract himself from this conversation and get back to Amy was getting harder to ignore. But Delia just kept going on.
“Not that I can blame her.” Delia’s voice came out in almost a purr, drawing Sy’s attention back to her, as she put her hand firmly on his knee. Sy felt a crawling sensation that only deepened when he saw how she was looking up at him.
“You always were so sweet. The way you treated Amy just shows what a good guy you are. I’m not even mad that you missed prom because you got in a fight over her. If you did that for her, I know you would have done the same for me.”
She slid closer on the swing. He recognized the soft, hungry look that he’d seen on the faces of women who constantly buzzed around like flies at various events, looking for any football player to attach themselves to.
Sy began to back up, even as Delia scooted closer.
“I can be really sweet too, Sy. If you give me a chance to show you.”
Disgust coiled in Sy’s stomach at her words and her tone. It was almost like a switch had been flipped. Delia had gone from anger to a sort of patronizing tone about Amy to attraction, all in the span of a five-minute conversation. Then again, she was an aspiring actress.
“Um, Delia …” He leaned away, his back digging into the arm of the swing. She had invaded his space, almost blocking him in so that he would have to practically toss her on the ground to get up. He was torn between escape and being a gentleman. “We should go inside.”
“Aw. But we were just starting to connect again. You don’t want to pick up where we left off?”
“We left off as friends.”
Delia pouted. “But you can’t deny you wanted more. Isn’t that why you asked me to prom? To get your chance with me?”
She leaned even closer so that she was practically in his lap.
“Yeah, but—”
“You can have that chance now.”
And with a quickness that made it impossible for Sy to easily extricate himself, Delia climbed into his lap and tried to kiss him. Sy turned his head away, grasping her by the shoulders and trying to push her back.
Her lips landed on his jaw and she giggled. This, of course, was the moment Amy opened the door.
“Dinner’s just about—oh.”
Sy’s head snapped back and he met Amy’s wide eyes before jumping to his feet. That sent Delia sprawling across the swing.
“Hey!” she cried, but Sy didn’t even glance at her.
He knew guilt showed all over his face, making the situation look to Amy like something it wasn’t. Amy’s face went from shocked to hurt to a totally blank look in just seconds.
Delia recovered, grabbing Sy’s arm to pull herself to her feet. She giggled, smoothing down her shirt. He tried to pull away, but she practically latched on to him.
“Oh, sorry! We were just talking.” She giggled, squeezing Sy’s arm.
Amy stared down where her sister’s hand touched Sy. He felt sure that if she had superpowers, she would have lasered Delia’s fingers right off. When he moved to step away, Delia clung to him possessively, moving with him like his shadow. Frowning, Sy used his other hand to pry Delia off. She blinked up at him with wide, doe eyes. He took a step toward Amy.
“Ames,” he said.
“It’s fine.” She smiled, but it didn’t light her eyes. “Dinner’s ready. Come on in when you’re done talking.” She turned and slammed the door behind her.
Delia giggled again, and the sound felt like nails on a chalkboard. “Well, that was awkward.”
It was, but not for the reasons Delia seemed to think it was.
Sy burst through the door, his eyes seeking Amy out. Delia was close on his heels and cast another adoring gaze up at him before practically skipping away down the hall to the kitchen.
“Mom! You won’t believe who’s here. Did Amy tell you?”
Sy heard a muffled response, but his attention was on the woman to his left who was forcefully setting silverware down by plates.
“Ames?”
She didn’t look up as she put down the last knife. She started straightening the napkins next, smoothing out the corners like the fate of the nation depended on it.
“Yeah? What do you want, Sy?”
You. I want you.
But he couldn’t say that. Not without explaining what she just saw on the porch. Any explanation right now would probably sound like an excuse, but he had to try.
“That wasn’t what it looked like out there.”
Amy did look at him now, and the coolness in her gaze pierced him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“I said, it’s fine.”
Her gritted teeth contradicted her words, but at that moment, Sy couldn’t push her on it because Delia and Mrs. Winters emerged from the kitchen, carrying dishes.
“Sy!” Mrs. Winters exclaimed. “It is so good to see you again!” She set down a platter of roast beef and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
“Thanks for having me for dinner, Mrs. Winters. Nice jersey.” Despite the boulder sitting in his chest, Sy couldn’t help but smile seeing his number on her Mustang jersey.
“I’ve never stopped rooting for you,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze.
The boulder shifted, and Sy felt moved by the simple words. His family might have been proud of him, but they were so distant. Had they ever worn one of his jerseys? Or even a team shirt with his name?
Not that he could ever remember.
Sy tried to untangle the emotions in his chest. An hour ago, he’d been flirting with Amy, feeling all kinds of hopeful. Now, she was stone-faced, Delia was standing so close that he could smell her cloying perfume, and their mom showed more support in one sentence than his family had in years.
He was a mess.
“Now, sit down and let’s eat,” Mrs. Winters said, gesturing to the seat next to Amy.
“No,” both Amy and Delia said at once. They paused and gave each other a look, Amy’s eyes flashing and Delia’s narrowing.
Delia broke first. “Sy’s fine right here, Mama.”
“Come sit by me, Mom,” Amy said, patting the chair next to her.
Mrs. Winters waved a hand. “That’s fine. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”
Sy sat down across from Amy, trying to catch her eye, but she stared down at the napkin in her lap. Delia scooted her chair closer to the table—and a few inches closer to him.
“Amy, would you say the blessing?” Mrs. Winters asked with a smile.
Sy would need all the prayers he could get.
Chapter Seven
Amy
It is not okay to stab your sister with a fork.
It is not okay to stab the big, important football player with a fork.
Unless it’s somewhere that it doesn’t affect his game …
These were the kinds of thoughts that got Amy through most of dinner. She was actually thankful for Delia (when not thinking about stabbing her with everyday flatware) because she carried the conversation.
Maybe conversation wasn’t the right word for it, since Delia simply talked about herself for ninety percent of the time as she found various ways to touch Sy. His hand. His arm. His shoulder, while she laughed. Oddly, he seemed uncomfortable with the attention, but it didn’t stop Delia from touching him, or stop Amy from thinking st
abby thoughts.
Having her mom ask Amy to say the blessing only compounded the pain, because of course, she’d insisted they hold hands. Which meant Amy had to touch Sy.
Her cheeks had burned as Sy reached his big hand across the table toward Amy, palm up. She made the mistake of looking into his brown eyes, which seemed to be pleading with her.
The very last thing she wanted to do after seeing Sy and Delia cuddling on the porch swing was to let him touch any part of her body. Or to have her body react to his touch, which, of course, it did.
Before it became an awkward thing that her mom commented on, Amy placed her hand in his, hating the reflexive way his fingers curled around hers. Heat radiated straight up her arm, sending a shot of something like adrenaline to her heart. Cascades of tingly feelings that otherwise would have been pleasant—more than pleasant, really—zipped around her body and made her draw in a quick breath.
It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t just turn off her reactions to Sy with a switch. He clearly did not have the same problem where she was concerned.
Amy had never said a shorter prayer, nor felt so torn between anger and attraction while her thoughts were supposed to be on God. Amy half expected God to smite her where she sat in the ornate dining room chair.
“Lord, thanks for the food and for family and … friends. Amen.”
She had almost choked on the word friends but managed to get them out before jerking her hand away from Sy. His foot nudged hers under the table once, and she pulled her feet back until they rested underneath her chair.
Amy knew that the silent treatment and her awkwardness made it completely and totally obvious to Sy how she felt about him, but she just couldn’t control it. All her mental prep for seeing Sy go after Delia had failed to ready her to see it up close.
It hadn’t even taken them ten minutes to get cozy on the porch swing. That had to be some kind of record. Walking out and seeing Delia practically in Sy’s lap ranked up there as one of the very worst moments of Amy’s life. She couldn’t decide if it was first or second compared to prom night, when she had watched Sy be led away in cuffs.
No, this was worse.
“Well,” Mrs. Winters said, when Delia had taken a rare pause for a sip of water. “We’ve heard all about Hollywood. How is life in San Antonio, Sy?”
Amy watched Sy’s hands, not his face, surprised to see him fidgeting with his fork.
“Fine. I like the team and the city. My house is good.”
He shrugged, as though being a pro ball player with a multimillion-dollar contract was no big deal. But his voice was too even, and he kept running one finger along the tines of the fork.
He’s unhappy. Restless.
But why?
Amy hated that she could still read him so well. Or could she? Maybe she was totally off base, the way she had been with everything else she thought about Sy today.
For a little while today, he had felt like hers. His attention had been laser-focused on her, and it had seemed like more than friendly. He laughed with her. She thought he had been flirting, especially when he buckled her into his car, but she must have misread his signals. Sy was just being playful. He’d always teased her back in the day. This must have been the grown-up version of that.
When it came down to it, Amy just couldn’t hold a candle to Delia. Amy might be older now, healthier, less terrifying to look at, but she would never match up to her sister, who, even without a bit of makeup on tonight, looked every bit like the A-list celebrity she wanted to be.
“And the team? Are you guys having a good season?” Delia asked, leaning closer to him.
Amy rolled her eyes, and even her mother clucked her tongue. The Mustangs had been on a massive losing streak. Obviously, Delia had no clue.
Sy wiped his mouth with his napkin before answering. “Not our best season, no.” His voice was tight.
Delia wrinkled her nose. “No championship game this year?”
Sy barked out a short laugh. “It’s doubtful we’ll even make the playoffs.”
“Oh.”
“But Sy has been on fire.” Amy had tried to hold back. She didn’t want to speak up. But the words just bubbled up out of her. “Two sacks and thirteen tackles in the last game, beating his record from last year. The game before that, he ran an interception for a touchdown. The Mustangs may be in bad shape, but Sy is at peak performance, especially after recovering from a sprained ankle at the beginning of the season.”
Amy clamped her lips shut, realizing that she had gone a few steps too far. Sy was grinning broadly, and she could not allow herself to look at his wide, white smile.
Delia actually looked annoyed. Or … threatened?
Her mother chuckled. “You always were into football. I wear the jersey but stop there.”
Delia’s lips curved into a smile. Amy knew that look, and it was trouble. “It’s more like Amy’s into S—”
“Sports!” Amy interrupted Delia, who had a glint in her eye that Amy did not trust. “I’m really into sports. And stats.” And sandwiches, seashells, scorpions, or any other S-words that didn’t happen to be Sy.
Delia smirked, and Amy shot her a dark look.
It wasn’t like Delia to be petty or throw Amy under the bus. Sure, her older sister was self-obsessed. But she didn’t usually insult Amy directly. She wasn’t cruel. But a weird dynamic settled between them. One that Amy couldn’t quite figure out.
It almost seemed like Delia felt threatened by Amy. But Amy wasn’t the one making out with Sy on the front porch.
Even if she wanted to be.
“I’m glad that hasn’t changed, Ames,” Sy said, his voice rough and low. “I always loved having someone to talk shop with.”
Amy made the mistake of glancing at him. His eyes were soft, the brown melting into a warm coffee.
She shrugged and looked away. “What can I say? I love the game.”
Her mom spoke again. “Where is your family now? I know they moved.”
“Arizona. It’s just as hot there but not humid. Whenever I visit, it feels like a layer of my skin cracks from the dry heat. They’re on a cruise right now, but I have a bowl game the day after Christmas.”
That’s sad. Amy wondered how Sy really felt about his family planning a Christmas vacation without him. Though, they’d never really been around when he was in high school either. When Amy had talked to them, they seemed kind, but she couldn’t remember seeing them at any of the football games she’d attended.
Was Sy lonely? Where would he be if he weren’t here?
It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care. Sy wasn’t hers.
Their mother laughed as the conversation continued around her. Amy shot Delia a glance. She was leaning closer to Sy as he spoke, looking at him with rapt attention and an adoring gaze that made Amy’s stomach turn. For his part, Sy was leaning away from her. Almost to the point of awkwardly bending over the arm of his chair.
Huh.
“Earth to Amy! Where is your head tonight?” Delia asked.
“Sorry, just a lot on my mind, I guess. Did you ask me something?”
“Never mind. So, what’s got you distracted? Thinking about your big dates this week?” Delia winked.
Amy immediately tensed. She had not thought about those dates once since Sy showed up on the porch. She forced herself not to gauge his reaction.
“You’re going on dates?” Her mother practically squealed, patting her on the back. Amy wanted to dive under the table and stay there for the rest of dinner.
“It’s not a big deal,” she muttered.
Delia made a dismissive sound and then nudged Sy. “Amy has three dates with three different eligible bachelors this week,” Delia said. “Maybe by Christmas, she’ll pick one lucky guy.”
Amy finally glanced up at Sy. He sat frozen in his seat, fists tight around his silverware.
“How romantic.” Her mother sighed, putting a hand over her heart. “I’d love nothing more than for you to find s
omeone and settle down.”
Amy closed her eyes. Had the two of them conspired together to completely humiliate her?
“How do you know these guys?” Sy demanded.
Amy’s eyes snapped open, and she glared at Sy. Was he serious? He got back together with Delia after a ten-minute conversation and now wanted to act like he had a right to care if Amy went on dates? Nope. Not happening.
Suddenly these three dates were the most exciting event of her year.
“I don’t know them,” Amy said. “Delia set me up.”
“They’re from a dating app,” Delia said. “I chose guys that seemed like they’d be a perfect fit for Amy.”
Sy’s nostrils flared. “You’re going out with strangers from some app? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?”
“What can I say? I like to live on the wild side.” Amy lifted a shoulder.
Delia snorted, and Sy’s jaw clenched. Amy could hear his teeth grinding. It gave her a ridiculous amount of pleasure. He didn’t get to waltz back into her life and act like some kind of protective older brother.
“It will be fine,” Delia said. “Everyone dates through apps now.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Sy said.
“I don’t think your opinion matters. I’m a big girl,” Amy said. “Don’t you worry about me.”
Delia looked between Sy and Amy. “That’s so sweet of you to be concerned for my little sister.” She laughed and patted his arm.
Sy ignored Delia, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes could have burned a hole through Amy. She smiled sweetly at him and then looked at Delia.
“Are you going to tell me about these guys? I’ve been counting down the days.”
Not true. But she would now. Anything to distract her from the man across the table who was practically vibrating with tension. Amy rested her elbow on the table and propped her chin in her hand.
“I’d love to hear about this too,” Mrs. Winters said.
Delia pulled out her phone, which had been sitting at the table beside her. “Let’s see …” She rattled off three names of guys that Amy hardly noticed.
Stealing the Bad Boy Page 7
