When I open my eyes, Bristol is all smiles.
“Don’t say that.” I glare at Zeke. “Those are bad words.”
Zeke giggles. “Uncle Liam in trouble.” His words roll a bit together and aren’t enunciated properly, but I’ve learned to understand him pretty well.
Bristol wrinkles her nose and holds a finger up to Zeke to show him to be quiet. “Those aren’t nice words,” she says. Her voice is calm; there’s no hint of anger or malice. “We don’t say those things because they hurt people. Do you understand?”
Zeke stares at her and nods.
I have no clue whether he just comprehended everything she said or not, but he plops back down in my lap and resumes his attention on the cartoons.
I’m sure his attention span will be broken again in less than five minutes.
“You’re really good with him,” I admit, surprised that she’s not a monster all the time, like she was with me growing up.
“I can say the same about you.” Bristol glances me over, and I see an unfamiliar smile, almost like she’s looking me over and could ravish me.
I’m definitely imagining things.
Bristol Greyson hates me.
“Did you want to watch the rest of this cartoon, or should I drive you back?” I ask.
“You can drive me back. I’m ready.” She stands and slides her thumb into the tiny pocket on her skirt, and a slip of paper falls to the floor.
I lean down to pick it up. “You dropped—” I glance at it, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you carrying my address with you?”
Ten
Bristol
I am dead. I might as well just disappear right now to save myself the humiliation. I slip my shoes on, not answering Liam as he stares at me.
He holds the scrap of paper that I wrote his address on at work.
I had been planning to drop by unannounced and was hoping he’d be glad to see me.
Except I knew he wouldn’t be glad.
There’d be zero reason for him to be happy for me to show up, because we hate each other.
Hate isn’t even a strong enough word for my feelings toward Liam Moretti.
In middle school, he told everyone that I let him get to third base with me. After that incident, a jock shoved his hand up my skirt in our next class.
I punched the asshole in the throat. Liam looked surprised. I’m not sure if he was more surprised that I got felt up or that I had the balls to punch and silence him.
The next day, the jock came in with a black eye.
Rumor had it that during hockey practice, someone slammed a puck into his face.
I’d like to think that someone did it on purpose.
“The piece of paper with my address, Bristol. You’re not getting out of this. What’s going on?” He sounds angry, his voice raising an octave as he stands and comes face-to-face with me, but it’s more like face-to-chin.
He’s a lot taller than I am.
“I just … I wanted to talk to you.”