Crushed (9 page)

I say nothing.

“You ever been?” She asks.

“To
Phantom of the Opera
? No. God, no.”

“What about other Broadway shows?”

I remain silent, looking out the window.

As punishment, she starts belting out the chorus of
Mamma Mia,
and I lean across the car to put a hand over her mouth. It’s something I find myself doing all too often around her, but you’d understand if you spent more than five minutes in this girl’s company.

When I remove my hand, she’s silent for all of four seconds before opening her mouth again. “So when are you going to fess up?”

“About what?” I ask.

“About what changed your mind. About the party, I mean.”

I shrug. “Got nothing better to do. A weekend on the lake sounded pretty damn good. Plus, the club is closed for the weekend. Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

“You could hang out with friends?”

I don’t have any friends. Not anymore. The closest I have is Blake from Pig and Scout, and he’s got his own thing going on every weekend.

Actually, that’s not true. Blake’s not my closest thing to a friend.

The closest thing I have to a friend is probably the noisy girl sitting beside me, and doesn’t
that
just say it all.

“Did I mention we have to share a room?” she asks.

I turn my head to stare at her, fully prepared to force her to make a U-turn when she grins. “
Kidding
. The house is huge, and a lot of the guests rent or own nearby houses, so there’s not all that many people staying at our place.”

“What about Devon?” I ask. Once again, I’m grateful for Chloe’s idiotic misplaced crush. It gives me a chance to ask about my half brother and Kristin without seeming interested for the wrong reasons.

“What about him?” she asks, her voice just a tiny bit testy, the way it always is when I mention her sister’s boyfriend.

“Does he stay in the house?”

She turns on her blinker and moves into the left lane to pass a pickup hauling a boat.

“Nope. The Pattersons have their own place on the lake, a few houses down. Technically he sleeps there.”

“And non-technically?” I ask.

She gives me a look. “
Non
-technically he and Kristin wait until the parents have had too much wine and have sleepovers.”

My gut clenches a little, not so much in jealousy as in memory. How many summer nights in the Hamptons had I created a distraction so that Ethan and Olivia could have sleepovers of their own?

Too many. Too goddamn many.

Chloe’s eyes flick to me briefly before they flick back to the road.

“You really like Kristin?” she asks.

I jerk my mind back to the present. “What?”

“Well, the way I see it,” she says, even though I didn’t ask, “is that there’s no possible way you’re helping me lose my baby fat just because you’re a good guy. There’s got to be an ulterior motive. I figure my sister’s it.”

She’s got that part right. I am absolutely not a good guy.

“And I’ve seen the way you look at her. You and every other guy,” she finishes quietly.

Despite my determination to ignore her—to keep her out of my head—I can’t help but turn and study her profile.

It’s strange, but I’d never really given much thought to what it must be like to be the sister to someone like Kristin. I knew Chloe had a thing for Devon, obviously, but aside from that, I’d never really thought much about the two of them as sisters.

“Does that bother you?” I ask, turning the tables on her.

“Does what bother me?”

“The fact that everybody’s got a boner for your sister.” I don’t bother to mince my words. Why should I? She never does.

“It doesn’t bother me that everybody does,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Just that
some
people do.”

“Like Devon,” I say, because this much is obvious.

She’s silent for several moments. “Sure. Like Devon.”

Somehow I think that’s not the whole story, but it’s an opening, so I take it.

“Tell me about Devon.”

She cuts me a glance. “Curious about the competition?”

More than you can possibly imagine
. “Sure.”

Chloe lets out a dreamy little sigh. “Devon Patterson is . . . perfect.”

I groan. “Never mind. Forget it. Invitation to share officially withdrawn.”

“Too late!” she says in a singsong voice. “So, let me take you back to elementary school. . . .”

My eyes glance at the speedometer before moving to the door handle. I wonder if I could jump and survive. . . .

“So I was, like, a big nerd back then,” she says as she punches on the child-safety lock to trap me in.

I give up on escape as I reach around to rummage through her bag of snacks. “This is all very surprising so far. . . .”

I open a bag of chips and hold it out to her, hiding a smile at the skeptical look she gives me.

“Go ahead,” I urge. “Vacations are cheat days.”

Chloe digs in, popping a sour-cream-and-onion chip in her mouth with a little sigh of pleasure before continuing her story. “Okay, so back then I was even nerdier than I am now.” She glances at me. “Better?”

I nod and help myself to a chip.

“Okay, so I was a nerd, but a friendly one, and so was Devon.”

I pause in my chewing. “Really?”

“Totally. A little pudgy, bookworm, super shy . . . And that was just in grade school. By middle school, we’re talking braces, pimples—”

“Damn,” I say, torn between sympathy for the dude and perverse pleasure that my half brother was a total dork.

“Right?” she says. “He and I banded together out of sheer necessity, even though he was a year ahead of me. We’d have reading parties—”

I groan. “Chloe. No.”

“Oh, yes. Every time a new Harry Potter book came out, we’d go wait in line together—”

“It just keeps getting better,” I mutter.

“In costume,” she finishes.

I choke on a chip.

“Anyway, you get the idea,” she says, her voice a little wistful. “We were friends.
Real
friends, you know? He didn’t care that I was fat, and I didn’t care that he had cystic acne and sometimes got Oreos in his braces.”

I drop the chip I was about to eat back in the bag.

“Where was Kristin in all of this?” I ask.

“She was pretty much a mini version of what you see now. Tiny, refined, athletic.”

“Did Devon have a thing for her?”

She reaches her hand into the chip bag, pulls out a too-big handful, and munches. “Not at first. But by eighth grade or so, it was obvious that he was no longer coming over to our house to hang out with me. It was to catch a glimpse of Kristin’s newfound love for bikinis.”

Chloe’s voice never loses its peppy enthusiasm, but I’ve spent enough time with her to notice that her tone has taken on a slightly brittle edge. The girl’s not as immune to her sister’s superstar status as she wants to be.

“So what happened?” I ask. “When did you lose your Harry Potter BFF?”

“I didn’t really lose him, technically,” she says, probably trying to convince herself more than me. “It was just a slow transition. First his braces came off. Then he got contacts. Then his skin cleared up. . . . He started working out.”

“He became popular,” I conclude.

She nods. “High school was a fresh start for him. For all of us, really, but Devon’s the only one who managed to switch teams. Kristin was on the popular side and stayed there. I was on the dorky side and stayed there. But Devon . . . he left dorky for popular.”

And he left you for Kristin,
I silently finish for her.

“His loss,” I say automatically, because it’s what polite people say, and manners were drilled into me as a kid.

But once the words are out of my mouth, I realize they’re truer than I realized. Chloe is . . .

I don’t know what Chloe is. But I hate that she sees herself as second-rate.

Chloe lets out a thoroughly entertained laugh. “Don’t even, Beefcake. You’re no different. You’re going to try and tell me you don’t know
exactly
what Devon sees in Kristin?”

I roll up the chip bag and put it back in its place, feeling irrationally irritated that she’s clumped me in with my superficial half brother.

“I’m here with
you,
aren’t I?”

“Sure, Beefcake. But as a friend. Not even a friend. As a carpool buddy, to help your nefarious plan of . . . what exactly?”

“How do you know I have a nefarious plan?”

She shrugs. “I just do. I thought it was as simple as you trying to break up Kristin and Devon, but I can’t quite figure out your approach.”

I pull two water bottles out of the cooler, twisting the cap off hers and handing it to her. “You know your sister better than anyone. You think she hasn’t had guys hit on her in the time she’s been with Devon? You think she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing every time she winks and wiggles around me?”

Chloe glances at me with a little look of surprise. “So you know she’s playing games with you.”

“I know,” I say quietly. “I’m just playing them right back.”

She hands me back the water bottle after taking a sip, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. “I knew it. On that first day I met you, I totally thought you had her number, but since then you’ve been acting just like the rest of her whipped dogs.”

I wince.

“Sorry,” she says. “But it’s true. Either shit or get off the pot, man.”

I can’t help my laugh.

“I’m serious!” she says. “You’ve got to make your move or move
on
.”

“What do you think this weekend’s about?” I ask, even though until this moment, I hadn’t really given much thought to the Kristin-Devon thing. I’ve been too focused on my father.

She looks at me wide-eyed. “You decided to come along to play home wrecker?”

I take a sip of water. “Don’t act so scandalized. Isn’t that exactly what you’re up to? I’ve seen you and Devon chatting it up whenever Kristin’s not around. Looking awfully chummy these past two weeks.”

“We’re friends. He wants to talk about law school.”

“Uh-huh. With you, but not with Kristin?”

“She’s mad at him,” Chloe mumbles.

Is she now?
That’s interesting. Trouble in paradise could work very well to my advantage.

“I’m not a home wrecker,” she says very deliberately, as though trying to convince herself. “Even if I wanted to be, it wouldn’t work. He doesn’t see me. Not like that.”

I start to tell her that she just needs to give it time—that maybe Devon will see the light and revert to his nerdy, Harry Potter–loving self.

But then reality hits, and I remember exactly how that works out.

How long did I wait for Olivia to see me? To realize that she laughed with me in a way that she never did with Ethan? That I saw her in a way Ethan never would?

Too long.

I told myself that when she and Ethan broke up that she’d get it. That she’d see someone besides him.

And she did.

But that someone wasn’t me. I’d been right there waiting for her the whole damn time, but she didn’t come to me. Instead, she ran to fucking
Maine
and fell hard for the injured marine she’d been hired to care for. Best I could tell, the guy was a complete asshole, but Olivia was . . .
in love
. Or some shit.

Discovering that she’d found a new guy would have been shitty enough, but, incredibly, that wasn’t the worst part of that weekend. No, the real shit went down when I came home feeling like there was a hole in my chest and discovered that my “father” was, in fact, not my father.

I figure that was about the time I stopped feeling. Because, really, why bother?

I grit my teeth. I don’t know why I keep picking that scab, but I do, and because the thought of Olivia makes me feel the fool, I let anger roll over me because it’s easier than hurt.

“You’re an idiot,” I say gruffly. It’s not what I mean to say. I don’t
know
what I mean to say. I just can’t stand the thought of this cheerful,
good
person going through what I went through.

Instead of being offended, she laughs. “Good pep talk, Beefcake.”

She laughs again, and it’s genuine and bold, and suddenly it hits me: Chloe Bellamy deserves better. She deserves better than what I got.

Maybe she just needs what I never had.

A little help.

Chapter 10

Chloe

Okay, fine, I’ll confess: When I invited Beefcake to my family’s Fourth of July party, my motives weren’t entirely pure.

Like, we’re talking half-wanting to distract him from my workout, half pity invite because I was worried the guy would spend the holiday alone in his hovel making homemade fireworks.

But I’m oddly glad that he said yes.

It’s not the first time I’ve brought along one of what my parents call my “projects.” They didn’t even blink when I told them I was bringing an employee from the club.

Unorthodox, sure, but they’re used to it.

Last year it was a barista at Starbucks who put extra whipped cream on my caramel Frappuccino every morning, and had confided that she’d just moved to the area with no friends.

The year before that, it was a girl from Hungary I met at the mall who’d never seen freaking fireworks.

In high school, it was exchange students, tutors, and whomever else I worried didn’t have anyone to hang out with.

What can I say? I’m a connector.

But with Michael, it’s a little different. He’s a project invite, yes.

But he’s also the first of my projects that feels a little bit like . . . a friend.

Not that I’d ever tell him that. The guy’s about 84 percent scowl, and I think words like
friendship
would up that percentage to 90-something.

The car ride goes surprisingly quickly. Usually I ride with Kristin and Devon, but three hours trapped in the car with
two
guys ogling Kristin?

Just no. Hell no.

Plus, I very intentionally hadn’t told Kristin that I’d invited her tennis crush, and I’m guessing my parents hadn’t bothered to mention it to her.

How do I know?

Because I’m still alive.

Sister is
not
going to be pleased that I’m bringing her boy toy and boyfriend into the same orbit, but that’s her problem. Serves her right for giving Beefcake all of those come-hithers that she has no intention of cashing in.