When I finally turn, a tall, slender frame steps into my peripheral, wearing the same jeans and wifebeater he’s had on the past four days. His fingers slip through his stringy, shoulder-length hair while he scans the street, scowling.
“Damn music’s so loud it’s rattling my windows,” he manages to get out before an ugly cough chokes him out.
He steps toward Scar’s booth and I’m immediately on high alert. Sure enough, he reaches his filthy hand toward a stack of snickerdoodles and I’m not having it.
“Got a dollar?” I ask, getting to my feet as I stare him down. “Because that’s the only way you’re taking anything off that table.”
His hateful glare lands on me and I give it right back to him.
“Where the hell do you think this shit came from? My damn kitchen,” he declares, making my blood boil.
“Mike, you haven’t spent a dime on groceries in years and you and I both know it,” I seethe. “So, if you don’t cough up the cash, you get nothing.”
And I mean that with everything in me. All he’s ever done is take, and I refuse to let him belittle what Scar’s doing here tonight. To help out with bills, no less.
A long, intense silence passes between us and I’m fully committed to sucker punching him if he touches a single chocolate chip.
His gaze slips back toward Scar’s merchandise, and then to me.
“You’re just like your mother, you know that?” he asks. “A world-class bitch.”
He turns to walk away and, without even thinking about my actions, I lunge at him. Had it not been for the arm that catches my waist, I would’ve knocked Mike right on his drunk ass.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ricky says in my ear, holding my back flush against his chest until Mike’s made it inside again. “You know he’s always talking out the side of his neck. He’ll forget everything he said when he sobers up.”
But the problem is I never forget. I carry every hateful thing he’s ever done or said with me like an old suitcase weighing me down.
“I’m fine,” I snap, snatching out of Ricky’s grasp. But he knows I’m only pissed at my dad, not at him.
Scar’s trying to pretend our father’s antics don’t affect her, but I know better. I realize Shane’s aware of it too when my gaze lowers, to where his hand is linked with my sister’s.
“Why don’t we walk until you cool off?”
Ricky barely has the suggestion out of his mouth when Jules agrees. “Yep, go. I’ll keep an eye on the kiddos.”
“We’re not kids,” Scar sing-songs.
“You’re whatever I say you are,” Jules teases in the same tone.
I feel hot all over, brimming with anger as I glare at the house. Knowing he’s inside makes me want to burn the damn thing right to the ground.
“Know what’s better than walking?” Ricky asks. “Dancing.”
I throw my head back. “Absolutely not.”
Even as I’m protesting, he’s dragging me out toward the street, closer to the gigantic speaker set up by the DJ. Since I refuse to move, Ricky takes my hands and makes me sway awkwardly to the beat. It’s only a matter of time before I can’t take it and a laugh slips out.
I meet his gaze and the negative energy starts to burn off. He tends to have that effect on me often. It seems he notices when my mood lightens and drops my hands, placing his own on my waist.
Too much. Way too much.
“We should go back.” I sound casual, but I’m anything but that at the moment.
He smirks and draws me even closer to speak over the music. “Why? Because your boyfriend’s watching us?”
At first, I don’t know what to make of that, but then, as I scan our surroundings, I put two and two together.
The Golden boys.
They’re posted on the other side of the street, but Dane and Sterling are focused on their own conversation with Joss and a couple players from the team. However, there’s no question who has West’s attention.
Lucky me.
Chapter 15
BLUE
West’s heinously dark stare burns right through me.
I can’t escape it.
The tension in his jaw, the sharp flare of his nostrils, both only add to what I already know. He’s still just as wicked as the first time our paths crossed.
And even knowing this, I don’t quite look at him the same. Not since the kiss.
Feeling the moist heat of his mouth covering mine, the taste of it … I haven’t been able to shake the memory. Believe me, I’ve tried putting it out of my head, because I know exactly who I’m dealing with.
But that’s been easier said than done
He’s not the boy next door, or the kind you trust with your heart. West Golden is a devil in designer jeans, with all the charm of a bona fide psycho. Still, even with all the hatred I hold for him, I swear I feel him all over me.
Like a ghost.
“Should I go?” Ricky isn’t one to be easily intimidated, so I know he only asks because he thinks it’s what I want.
“It’s fine,” I answer casually, but heat creeps up my spine as my eyes lock with West’s. So much that I quickly turn away.
“You sure about that?” Ricky adds with amusement in his tone, “because he’s on his way over here.”
Balls.
I snap my head that way again and a quiet, inward gasp hisses in my throat. All because that confident stride of West’s, the rhythmic dip and roll of his broad shoulders, has brought him right to me.
“Sooo … Enjoying yourself, Southside?”
There’s a cocky smirk on his lips as he eases both hands inside his pockets. First, he stares me down, and then drags his gaze toward Ricky. The usual bright green of his irises seems to darken then, as the two stand eye-to-eye.
My fingers tighten into fists where they rest on Ricky’s
