Brayden’s mom describes everything that she and Mr. Knight made (because he cooks, unlike Dad), but I only catch the phrase: “lemon parmesan.”
Whatever, I’m not a picky eater. Food is food.
Hailee, however, briefly wrinkles her nose…so there must be something on the menu that she doesn’t approve of.
Such a diva.
Soon we’re all eating, and I’m pretty sure the chicken is what has lemon parmesan on it. No complaints here though. It’s delicious.
Brayden’s arm brushes against mine as he uses his knife to cut his chicken, and I feel myself stiffen from the sudden contact. Dang it! Do I have to be so on edge when it comes to him?
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as he chews his food. And honestly? The way his jaw works is almost mesmerizing.
Snap out of it!
“What’s up?” he asks, his voice low and sexy as heck. “You’re staring.”
Oh great, now his attention is on me. Those hazel eyes waiting for a response.
“I—I, uh, I wasn’t staring,” I trip over my words, “I was just…thinking.”
He turns slightly, resting the crook of his arm over the back of his chair. “Thinking about what?”
“I need to use the bathroom,” I say, scooting my chair out. Is it the most graceful response? Heck no. But it’s the easiest solution for me to get some air that Brayden isn’t invading.
He proceeds to nod. “Ah. Upstairs, second door on the right.”
Fabulous.
I excuse myself from the table, but no one really seems to notice or care, and then I leave the dining room. I’m so over this dinner. I should be home right now, nowhere near him.
I make sure not to stomp up the stairs—but I really wish I could—and in a couple of quick strides, I find the bathroom.
And I also find Brayden’s bedroom across the hall.
Don’t judge me! The door is like, halfway open…and I doubt his parent’s room is messy with posters on the walls. I will admit, however, that trying to scope out his room is just plain creepy. But in my defense, it’s not like I’m walking in or—
“Ya know, if you wanted to see my room…all you had to do was say so.”
I curse under my breath at the sound of his voice. Then I curse again before turning to face him. “I wasn’t—”
“Sure, you weren’t,” he cuts in with a smirk.
Ugh. How did I not hear him sooner?
“What are you doing up here anyway?”
“Well,” he drawls, unfazed by my snappy tone, “this is my house. I don’t really think I need a reason for deciding to come upstairs. But, if you must know, Hailee was concerned that you wouldn’t be able to find the bathroom because you get lost easily.” He crosses his arms as he leans against the hallway wall. “Now I’m starting to think that was just her nice way of saying you’re a snoop.”
My mouth pops open at that. “I am not a snoop!”
“Relax, Meg.” He laughs some. “I’m not mad or anything. I guess I should feel flattered, huh?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, walking past him. “I swear, everything is a stupid joke with you…”
“Hey, Megan, come on,” he says, moving to stand in front of me. “I said I wasn’t mad at you. What’s the problem?”
You. You’re the problem. Having you around is the problem. Thinking about you is the problem. Finding you attractive is the problem. It’s you.
Of course, I don’t tell him any of that though. I’m not looking to make myself seem even more pathetic.
“Nothing,” I lie, well aware of how dry my voice sounds, “I’m sorry for peeking into your room…okay? I saw that the door was partially open, and I was curious, but I didn’t know it was your room.”
Well, until I peeked, obviously.
“It’s fine,” he replies with a careless shrug, “so are we good now?”
Hardly.
A brief “mm-hmm” is all I can manage at this point.
“We should, uh—we should head back downstairs,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” I agree with a nod, “we should.”
Before I say or do something stupid again. Or before he realizes that I didn’t actually go to the bathroom.
I step around him, making sure our arms don’t touch AT ALL, and then I go downstairs. Talk about awkward…
Hailee is the only one who acknowledges me when I sit down at the table again—and by acknowledging me, I mean that she wiggles her eyebrows with a smirk on her face.
The. Brat.
Brayden takes his seat beside me, and Hailee’s annoying smirk grows. I widen my eyes at her as a silent, yet VERY clear, message that she needs to stop.
This situation is bad enough without her adding to it.
“Hey, Brayden,” Kyle says, trying to stab his peas with his fork, “do you know that I play soccer?”
At least I have one sibling that’s not trying to make things more awkward.
“No, I didn’t know that,” Brayden drawls, sipping some of his water, “but I bet you’re really good.”
Yeah, he’d lose that bet.
“Well, I have a game tomorrow,” Kyle replies with a shrug, eyes focused on his peas, “maybe you could come watch me play.”
Where’s he going with this?
“If your mom and dad will let you anyway,” he continues, now giving Brayden a knowing look, “getting permission from your parents is super important.”
I roll my eyes as I eat my lukewarm food. Funny, I don’t remember Kyle getting permission from Mom and Dad when he cut his own hair two months ago.
“Very true,” Brayden agrees with a nod, “I’ll make sure to ask them about it first.”
Give me a break. I can’t even believe
