“What?”
A beat of silence. “Is that how you answer the phone for your sister?”
I hang up the phone and slam it down on my dresser. It immediately starts ringing again. I suck in a deep breath through my nose as I pull on my clothes and answer on the third ring.
“Hi, Nessa. What can I do for you?”
She hums. “That’s better.” I hear the low melody of a piano in the background. She must be at the studio. “You never answered my text about trivia.”
I grunt and continue to not answer her about trivia. I grab a t-shirt from the top drawer of my dresser, an old faded one with an angry badger stretched across the chest. Luka’s mom is head of the PTA at the high school and I buy a shirt every year. I’m afraid of what might happen if I don’t.
“What’s going on with Harper?” I deflect, wrestling myself into my jeans. I jam my knee into my dresser and curse under my breath.
“We’re not talking about Harper. We’re talking about trivia.”
I ignore her. “What’s going on with Harper?”
There’s a lengthy pause. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“She’s been quiet at dinner and now she’s not going to trivia.”
“She hasn’t been feeling well lately,” she answers in a rush. The music in the background cuts out abruptly. “Woman things.”
“Nessa.”
“What?”
“You can’t just say woman things to get me to stop asking questions. When has that ever worked?” I slam my dresser drawer shut, frustrated with this conversation. Myself. The universe. “What’s going on with Harper?”
“Okay, well,” she breathes out a heavy sigh. “You can’t get mad.”
I look up at the ceiling and beg for patience. I’m already mad. So it’s not a lie when I say: “I won’t get mad.”
“You can’t do anything about it.”
“I won’t do anything about it,” I grit out from between clenched teeth.
“Really? Because the last time you said that—“
“Vanessa.”
She pauses and I pull my shirt over my head. “She was seeing Carter again,” she says slowly, dragging out each word with reluctance. A hot flash of anger immediately grabs me by the throat. “And he broke things off with her over the weekend.”
I knew it. I fucking knew it. Every single time Harper has had that look on her face, it’s been because of one man. A stupid fuckboy with blonde highlights and a fucking puka shell necklace. “What did he say to her?”
Nessa sighs. “I don’t - “
I make a frustrated sound into the phone.
“He told her she’s only fling material,” she whispers, like if she says it quietly, I won’t turn into a giant ball of rage. Too late for that. “He said that she’s a lot of fun, but that’s it.”
I take a deep breath in. Let it out slowly. I tap the speaker button and pull up my text messages.
“I already keyed his car twice, but I’m pretty sure Dane is onto me.” Nessa hesitates. “What are you doing?”
“I’m texting,” I say.
“Who are you texting?”
“Luka.”
“You guys cannot do that thing you do where you hide in the bushes in camouflage and jump out with baseball bats. You could give him a heart attack, and Dane told you he’d arrest you if you do it again.” She makes an amused sound under her breath that she does her best to hide. “I don’t have the bail money for you this month.”
I brace my hands on the edge of the dresser and flex my fingers twice. She’s right. Dane did threaten to arrest us after the last time.
And I’m pretty sure we used the last of Stella’s face paint.
“Okay.” I tap out of my text messages. It would take too long for Luka to get here anyway.
“Okay? That’s it?”
“Mmhmm,” I hum. Comet and Vixen poke their heads into my room, see the look on my face, and quickly scamper away.
“What are you planning?”
“Nothing.” I keep my voice carefully neutral. I’m planning on going down to the bar and slamming Carter’s face into a basket of french fries fifteen times in a row. Then I’ll have a burger with a beer and come home. Maybe I’ll get one of those veggie sandwiches Evelyn seems to like so much.
“Okay,” she blows out a deep breath. “Okay, I don’t believe you. But okay.”
“Okay,” I parrot back, looking for my car keys. I could have sworn I left them on top of my dresser. I stomp out of the bedroom, almost mowing down Evelyn on my way into the kitchen. She grabs at my arms to keep herself upright, a startled sound spilling out of her.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she says, her nose against my neck. I slip the hand not holding my phone from between her shoulder blades to the small of her back, palm dragging down her spine as I make sure she’s steady. I suck in a sharp breath when my fingers graze bare skin. Her shirt must have gotten caught between us.
She answers with a shaky sigh against me, fingertips digging just slightly into my skin. Her nose nudges up, the brush of her lips just below my ear. My entire body goes rigid.
“Beckett Porter, do you have a WOMAN OVER?” Vanessa’s voice shrieks through the phone directly into my ear.
“Gotta go, Ness.”
“Do not hang up, you—“
I hang up the phone and slip it into my back pocket, leaning back and looking down at Evelyn plastered against my front. She’s cleaned the dirt off of her face and all that’s left is a rosy glow from a day spent outside, her hair curling at the edges. I thumb a strand behind her ear.
That’s twice today I haven’t been able to keep my hands off of her. I feel trapped between holding her at a safe distance and tugging her closer. A pendulum swinging endlessly back and forth.
I step back and clear my throat. I scoop my keys off the kitchen counter and try to scoop some of the feelings playing Plinko inside of my chest back where they belong.
“Going somewhere?”
“Yep.” My lips pop the last letter of the word, irritation slithering through me when I think about Carter. That fucking idiot. I frown and glance at the two chairs on the back porch, our dinner plans never discussed but a new habit, all the same. “Want a veggie sandwich while I’m out?”
“You get mad about veggie sandwiches, huh?” She digs her finger into the line between my eyebrows and I cuff her wrist with my hand. She’s so small, my fingers easily overlap. “What’s got that look on your face?”
“Someone was a dick to my sister,” I explain. I let our hands drop between us, indulging and swinging our arms back and forth once. Her skin is so soft. “I’m going to go take care of it.”
Evelyn blinks at me. Without a second of hesitation, she reaches for the discarded sweatshirt slung over the back of one of the dining room chairs. She pulls it over her head, arms punching through the sleeves, her hands lifting her long ponytail to pull it from the collar.
“What are you doing?” I ask, a little mesmerized and a lot distracted by all that hair.