“YOUR MOM IS GONNA FLIP the fuck out.”
I take my eyes off the road just long enough to glare at the snickering man in my passenger seat. “Shut up.”
“You look like you fell off a cliff.”
T’s too fucking early for this shit. “Shut up, Cass.”
He does no such thing. “Seriously, how are you gonna explain that to Ana?”
My hands clench around the steering wheel. I have no idea. Not one. I’ve spent the last three days praying the bruises highlighting my left cheekbone and the contours of both eyes would magically disappear and I wouldn’t have to conjure up an explanation. Instead, they’ve reached their absolute worst; dark and blatant and liable to give my mother an aneurysm. “I’ll figure it out.”
Another mocking snicker echoes around the interior of my car. “Good luck.”
“Hey, you’re not exactly spotless either.” I side-eye my friend, gaze lingering on his busted knuckles.
“I bet you twenty bucks my mom doesn’t even notice I’m there. She’s about to have her favorite child back.”
Instinctively, I tense at the mention of Amelia. I’ve been pushing it to the back of my mind, the fact that we’re on the way to get her right now, a hard thing to do considering we’re less than ten minutes away from her apartment. I don’t want to think about the fact I’m about to be stuck in a car with her and Cass for the next five hours. Or that we’re up at the crack of dawn because we’re driving home for Thanksgiving where I’m going to spend five days trapped in a house with her, Cass, and our entire families.
Mentally calculating the odds of my survival, it’s not looking good.
Surprisingly, I faced no repercussions for mine and Amelia’s impromptu sleepover; Cass didn’t say a word about it, not even sparing me a threatening glance or a disapproving grunt. More for Amelia’s sake than mine, I guess, and I was grateful for it at first. However, very quickly, I started wishing I’d received a verbal lashing because my foolish, horny brain read too much into his lack of a reaction. Gave me notions. Strived to convince me that Cass wouldn’t mind me—fuck it, I’m going to admit it—having a big, fat, pathetic crush on his sister.
It’s surface-deep; I’m not trying to marry the girl or anything close to that. It’s purely a carnal thing. I want to fuck her. Regularly. Exclusively. I’m not built for anything more—many people will attest to that—but I want her.
And I can’t.
Because Cass would care. It’s an unforgivable thing, fucking around with your best friend’s sister, even I know that. Even if nothing came from it—which is highly likely because Amelia’s already made it clear that she doesn’t want me—the very existence of the crush would ruin everything.
So, in short, until I work this, her, out of my system, until I wait out this damn crush, I’m fucked.
And I get a little more fucked when we pull up outside Amelia’s building and she comes sloping outside in a pair of shorter-than-short pajama bottoms and my goddamn hoodie. She looks as unhappy to be up with the sun as I am, a grumpy tilt to her lips as she tosses a duffel bag and a pillow in the back seat, throwing herself in after them.
“Still not a morning person, I see.” The teasing comment doesn’t fully leave Cass’ mouth before a slim middle finger is brandished in his direction. Clicking her seatbelt into place, Amelia tucks the pillow between her and the door, slouching lazily against it without a single word.
“Morning.”
Weary eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. Yawning, Amelia returns the sentiment. “Good morning.”
I let my gaze flit over her, lingering on her hoodie. “Nice outfit,” I can’t resist quipping.
Glancing downward, Amelia sucks in a breath, the wrinkle of her nose telling me her outfit choice was unintentional; in a tired daze, she simply grabbed the closest thing and threw it on.
My brain has a fucking field day theorizing why that happened to be my clothes.
“Don’t worry,” I drawl. “Looks better on you anyways.”
The pretty blush encroaching on pale, freckled cheeks is worth Cass’ knuckles connecting with my shoulder.
Amelia huffs, slumping further into her seat, arms crossed over her chest. “Does that line really work for you?”
“Wouldn’t know.” I wrench my gaze from hers as I set the car in motion, steering us in the direction of the California-Nevada border. “I don’t make a habit of giving out my clothes.”
“Yeah,” Amelia muses, humor lightening her tone. “It would probably throw off your game if your groupies had matching uniforms.”
“Amelia!” A choked laugh escapes Cass.
“What?” She grins, wide and unabashed, her exhaustion suddenly moot. “A little teasing is good for him. Keeps his ego in check. Stops his big head from getting stuck in doorways.”
Yeah. I’m fucked.
“Can I help you with anything?”
I start at the sudden question. Dragging my eyes away from the spot outside they’ve been fixated on for the last ten minutes, I spare the gas station attendant hovering by my side a gritted smile. “No, thanks.”
The girl dithers, abnormally thick lashes fluttering. “You sure?”
I rein in a snort. And a grimace. Yeah, I’m sure; the girl might be plastered in a deceiving amount of makeup but her age is still apparent—she can’t be older than Ben. Nodding briskly, I avert my gaze and it instinctively wanders to the window, to outside, again. A tiny huff is followed by footsteps as the girl slopes off and no less than ten seconds later, I hear her pipe up again. The same question, the same attempted sultry tone, but directed at Cass this time. I don’t have to hear my friend’s response to know the young girl strikes out again; Cass had his eye on the guy behind the counter the moment we walked in here.
It’s our second—and hopefully final—break before we reach Carlton and while Cass and I stock up on snacks, Amelia opted to stay with my truck. Not in the truck, though. No, she’s popped the tailgate and hopped onto the bed, flopped on her back to soak up the mild November Arizonan sun. I can’t see much more than her legs dangling off the edge—bare because she’s still wearing those fucking shorts—but I know she stripped off the hoodie a while ago, leaving a skimpy tank in its place.
And while I can’t see her, the creeps parked behind me have a clear fucking view. Even from a distance, I can tell they’re lapping it up.
Everything gathered in my arms hits the counter with a thump as I pin the latest object of Cass’ ever-fleeting attention with an impatient stare. It’s a miracle he manages to drag his attention away from my friend long enough to scan my items, and he even has the gall to look irritated by my presence, ungracefully shoving my purchases into a plastic bag.
“What’s up your ass?”
I counter Cass’ question with one of my own. “Can you hurry up?”
“Since you asked so nicely,” white teeth glint as Cass grins wide, “no.”
Flipping him off,, I snatch my stuff and stalk outside without another word. Unsurprisingly, Cass doesn’t follow me and I’m glad for it. His absence means I don’t have to explain why my shitty mood only gets shittier when I round my truck and find Amelia stretched out with her eyes closed, earphones in, oblivious to the world as she taps a rhythm against a sliver of bare stomach.
When I roughly drop the stuff beside her, she jolts into an upright position, her palm flush against her chest as she sucks in a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ.” As she tugs out her earphones, her foot jabs my knee gently. “You scared the crap out of me.”
With a grunt, I glance over my shoulder, stiffening when I find those guys still leering—three of them in some shitty little topless sports car, preppy looking motherfuckers who aren’t being even a little bit subtle about their gawking. Briefly, I’m torn between shifting to stand in front of Amelia, blocking her from their view, or hopping up beside her, facing them so I can keep an eye out for trouble. I settle on the latter, propping my ass against the metal as close as I can get to Amelia without fucking sitting on her. “What’re you doing?”
“Nothing.” I keep watching the guys as I reach an arm behind me to grab the plastic bag, plopping it on Amelia’s lap. “Did those guys bother you?”
Squinting, Amelia peers in the direction I nod my head, nose wrinkling as she shakes her head. “I didn’t even notice them.”
I huff. Like I said; oblivious.
As the sound of crinkling plastic fills the air around us, a pleased noise vibrates in Amelia’s chest. Glancing aside, my lips downturned in a grimace. Red Vines and coffee, that’s a reasonable request I can get behind. But those godawful gas station nachos covered in that fake plastic cheese? A fucking crime. “How can you eat those?”
Scoffing, Amelia brandishes a bright yellow tortilla chip in my direction. “You do not get to judge me. You drink wheatgrass shots for fun.”
I bark out a laugh, unable to keep from grinning at her like a damn fool. She grins back, a pretty pink tongue briefly peeking out at me playfully before she chucks the sorry excuse for a nacho in her mouth, washing it down with a hearty glug of coffee.
If that doesn’t turn me off her, I doubt anything ever will.
“You gonna eat?” Amelia asks, plucking out the lone granola bar I got for myself—not turning up at Ma’s house starving would be a grave mistake—waving it in front of me. “Or are you too busy staking your claim?”
Snatching my bar, I narrow my eyes at her wry grin. “What?”
“Don’t worry.” With a patronizing pat on my thigh, Amelia pointedly glances ahead of us at the creeps who are annoyingly undeterred by my presence. “I think it’s sweet. Very leading man in a romance movie of you.”
Scrubbing a hand down my face, I shift under the warm weight of Amelia’s palm still heavy on my thigh. “I wasn’t staking my claim.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” Amelia coos. “I told you, I think it’s sweet. A little overboard, though, because contrary to popular belief, I’m not entirely helpless. I don’t need protection at all times.”
I bite back the urge to remind her that her track record over the last few weeks proves otherwise. Instead, I scoff, my palms hitting warm metal as I lean back, my head lolling towards Amelia. “I’m not sweet, querida.” I’m sure as fuck not being sweet right now; I’m being a jealous, possessive shit. She doesn’t know that though.
She wouldn’t be looking at me all soft and sweet if she did. Head cocked, something akin to a question swirls in emerald irises that have progressed from only haunting my dreams; they’re encroaching on my waking moments too. “You’re sweet to me.”
“Because I like you,” I reply too quickly, too easily. Clearing my throat, I wipe my softening expression clean and force my gaze forward; it’s easier to focus on the bubbling irritation our leery audience provokes instead of the itching warmth staring at Amelia for too long incites. “We’re friends.”
“Hm.” My fists clench at the feeling of Amelia’s stare sweeping over me. “And friends don’t let friends get eye-fucked by strangers right?”
“Right.”
She hums again and fuck if the inflection of the noise doesn’t scream trouble. “Guess you’re not as intimidating as you thought. Since they’re still looking and all.”
I can’t help it; my head rolls to the side again, heart thumping as green overwhelms me, voice raspy as I drawl, “Maybe I’m not making myself clear enough.”
I see her breath catch in her throat. The fine tendons in her slender neck become taut. Pretty pink lips part, perfect white teeth sinking into the bottom one. “Maybe not.”
I’m about to. I’m contemplating all the ways I can make it so fucking clear, mind spinning trying to decide where to start, when the human equivalent of a bucket of ice-cold water being poured over my head comes barreling out of the gas station.
“Let’s go losers.” It’s almost violent, the way I jerk away from Amelia at the sound of Cass’ holler, practically falling off the bed of my truck in my haste to put distance between us, to clear the suspicious tension lingering in the air around them. “I need to shit and this ass is not touching a public toilet seat.”
The second I pull up to the curb outside my mother’s house, the front door swings open. Long, dark curls fly messily around Ma’s head as she sprints down the driveway with the energy of a woman half her age, impatience oozing from her as she waits for me to turn off the car and exit the vehicle before throwing herself at me. “Meu Nico,” she murmurs against my chest, patting my back affectionately. “Eu estava com saudades!”
“I miss-” My attempt at returning the sentiment falters when Ma pulls back to assess me in that motherly way only for her affectionate smile to fade, replaced by shock and irritation. When a weak backhand strikes my bicep, I exclaim, “Que diabos?”
“Nicolas Cauã Silva, o que aconteceu com seu rosto?” The woman shrieks at a decibel only audible to canines. Utter horror lines her features as she delicately pokes at the scabs and bruises marring my face.
“Mamãe, I’m fine.”
“Fine!” Throwing her hands in the air, she murmurs a few choice expletives beneath her breath. “Is this from one of your fights?” I barely manage to rein in a wince when she pokes the bruise spanning most of my left rib cage; if my face warrants this level of freakout, I can only imagine what reaction the rest of me would garner. “Nico, I told you I don’t like all the fighting.”
“It wasn’t from a fight.” I shut the car door behind me, noting Cass and Amelia haven’t moved, the former openly watching with a shit-eating grin on his face while the latter looks exceptionally uncomfortable. “Well, not that kind of fight.”
Beady golden eyes burn a hole in my face “What kind of fight was it?”
“One I didn’t start.”
Ma’s huff proves she doesn’t like my answer. “At least tell me you won.”
With a snort, I nod; like I told Amelia a couple of days ago, I’m the one who spent the night with her in my bed. I win, hands down.
Only slightly mollified, Ma splutters and fusses, oblivious for now to our audience as she works herself into a state, a red hue tinting her bronze skin. Skin the same shade as mine, if not a touch darker. I’ve always been told I’m the spitting image of my mother, the differences between us few and far between. It’s a long-running family joke that our baby pictures are impossible to tell apart. The Harrison genes—my dad’s side of the family—were no match for the Silva ones. The only things I inherited from my dad are his love of literature and his height. And his smile, Ma likes to say.
I fix that smile into place as I tuck my apoplectic mother beneath my arm, my free hand gesturing for our spectators to join us. Cass is the first to reach us, ‘I told you so’ written all over his face. “Don’t look at me like that,” Ma warns, smacking away his attempts at a hug. “I know you had something to do with this.”
“Me?” Cass mocks indignation, expression the picture of scandalized. “I am innocent. I know nothing. Your son is a menace to society all on his own.”
“You are a dipshit.”
A barrage of spat Portuguese chastising me for my language comes to an abrupt end when a car door opens and closes for the third time, drawing my mother’s attention. The scowl slips off her face and I swear to God, her ears prick up like a dog who’s spotted their new favorite toy.
In a millisecond, Cass and I are forgotten, literally shoved aside as Ma makes a beeline for the redhead shyly approaching us. Amelia changed before we left our last stop, swapping her pajamas out for a pair of denim overalls that shouldn’t be hot but on her, they are, over a white sweater, the collar of which she tugs on nervously. I should’ve reassured her that any nerves would be unfounded; Ma’s never met a person she didn’t like and she quickly proves Amelia is no exception.
“You must be Amelia!” Ma gushes, wrapping Amelia up in a tight hug faster than the girl can blink. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
I’m not going to dwell on how Ma looks right at me when she says that, a glint in her eyes that promises trouble.
Amelia is wide-eyed, clearly surprised by Ma’s display of affection but she returns it and the sight sparks a bone-deep level of satisfaction within me. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs Silva.”
“Please.” Ma pulls away, regarding Amelia warmly as her palms cup her shoulders. “Call me Ana.”
The hesitance in Amelia’s smile fades as she nods, returning my mother’s amiability. Ma accepts it greedily, practically glowing as she hugs her again—we’re a hugging family, I should’ve warned her—before releasing her. Internally, I groan when she sets her sights on me next, grabbing me and dragging me the short distance towards the Morgans’ place. “Sofia’s next door. She’s been helping Lynn cook for two days,” she tells me, purposely and suspiciously loud. Casting a glance over her shoulder, she yanks me down to her level, voice hushed even though she speaks in a language only her and I understand, “Amelia é muito linda.”
I keep my mouth shut; I know a trap when I hear one.
Undeterred, Ma persists. “Is that your hoodie?” She peeks over her shoulder again and I don’t have to see it to know she’s smirking. “You two must be close.”
I side-eye my meddling mother. “We’re friends.”
Ma hums, grinning as though I’ve cracked the funniest of jokes. I don’t like how she’s ogling me, examining me like she knows something I don’t know, inciting alarm bells to go off in my head. With a quiet groan, I check that Amelia and Cass are out of earshot—they’re still grabbing their shit from the car—before narrowing my eyes at Ma. “Did someone tell you something?”
“Is there something to tell?” she counters.
“No.”
Ma snorts. “Mentiroso. You’re blushing, Nico.”
“Não estou!”
“Don’t lie to your mother, Nicolas,” she chastises, patting my cheek playfully before sneaking a peek over her shoulder again. “I like her.”
Shit, why does that make me itch? “You just met her.”
“I have very good intuition,” Ma claims. “You like her too.”
“Your intuition tell you that?”
“No.” The back of her hand wallops me in the chest as she grins up at me, dark brows wiggling. “You and your googly eyes did.”
