The Bad Boy's Girl (The Bad Boy's Girl #1)(9)
“Now that we have that sorted out,” he runs a hand through his hair as though nervous, “I’d like to be friends. What I just did up there with the water? It was stupid. So how about we try another route?”
He extends his hand toward me and I look at it like it’s been infected by zombies, contagious zombies. He must have seen the look on my face, as he lets out a laugh.
“I don’t have any life-threatening diseases, Tessie. It’s just a handshake.”
“I’m sorry, but given our history, you might understand why I’m a little skeptical of your newfound desire for friendship.”
He nods and an emotion passes across his face that I can’t decipher. It couldn’t possibly be hurt, right? He withdraws his hand and we stand there awkwardly. I refuse to feel bad about what I’ve just done and so turn around and begin walking home.
“See you tomorrow, shortcake,” he says to my retreating figure and I wince. One more year of him, just one more year, I could totally get through this. Right?
Chapter Three: Death by Spearmint—I’d Revolutionize the World of Crime
I can honestly say that I’m not the lightest of sleepers. In fact, a crane could scoop out the roof of my house and I’d sleep through it because that’s just how I am. It’s purely genetic. We all cherish sleep a lot more than regular people, and my brother took his love for it the extra mile since all he ever does is sleep; well, get hopelessly drunk and then sleep.
Now, this hereditary love of sleep would explain the amount of hatred I would harbor for any person who wakes me up before I absolutely have to. Anyone and everyone who knows me well enough knows better than to mess with my sleep. You can bully me all you want, you can call me all the names in the world, and you can also so cruelly snatch the love of my life away from me, but you just cannot wake me up when I don’t want to be woken up.
Sadly, one person didn’t get the memo, and the fact that it’s my own mother makes it worse.
“Time to wake up honey, we’ve got someone waiting for you at breakfast.”
I do some mental calculations and lift my head from the most comfortable pillow on earth to take a look at the alarm clock that sits on my bedside table. I’m right, I do have fifteen more precious minutes of sleep that are being rather cruelly snatched from me. I don’t care if it’s the president waiting to share oatmeal with me, I would rather sleep. That is exactly what I tell my mom.
However, she refuses to take no for an answer, or leave my room for that matter. Having never been the nurturing sort, Mom hasn’t woken me up for school in a long time, and I think she’s still stuck at a place where I’m six and throwing a tantrum about not wanting to go to school. She rips the covers off me.
“It’s rude to keep guests waiting, Tessa. Please get dressed and come down.”
My early morning now effectively ruined, I grudgingly get ready and stomp downstairs, ready to chew out the person who has upset my morning routine.
Of course it’s Cole Stone.
“You!” I seethe, having gotten over the shock of seeing him in my dining room pretty quickly. Luckily, Mom is out of earshot and doesn’t hear me be rude to our ‘guest’. He’s casually helping himself to a generous serving of eggs and bacon while I plot ways to make him choke on his coffee.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss as I stride toward him.
“Your dad asked mine if I could drive you to school today. He said he wouldn’t be able to drive you because he had to leave early for work and your mom’s car is stuck at the mechanic’s. Does this ring a bell at all?”
I shake my head. “No, he never mentioned that last night.” How very convenient, well played, Father.
“My dad told me you were waiting for me. Uh, that’s why I’m here bright and early.”
Somehow I find myself believing him, because I know that my dad is capable of doing this. He’s had some strange matchmaking fetish for me and one of the Stone boys, and maybe this is him attempting to set me up with Cole. He’s the one I’m angry with, not Cole, because it looks like Cole’s as clueless as I am. Begrudgingly, I let him eat as I head to the kitchen to grab some food for myself, but the weirdness of him being in my house and us being civil to one another never goes away.
***
The thing about my mom is that she never cooks. Any maternal instinct that might tempt her to want to care for her children enough to feed them is long since gone. I know from experience she’s a terrific cook. But somewhere down the line, she stopped being the mom who used to make dinner every night and insist that we all sit together and eat.
Seeing the spread on our table right now, I can’t help but feel jealous as I realize that Mom would cook for Cole and not for our family. It’s stupid, I know. My family’s problems won’t be solved by over casserole. But I need a scapegoat for all the resentment I’m feeling, and it now seems to be directed toward Cole. Cole, who seems to be oblivious to all the tension surrounding him and is plowing through his breakfast like a tractor on crack.
“So Cole, what are your plans for college?”
My mom’s question takes me by surprise since she has shown negligible interest in my future plans. She doesn’t even know what classes I’m taking for senior year or that I’m a straight-A student. I sigh internally and try not to drown in self-pity. It makes sense that mom is sucking up to him. He is, after all, the sheriff’s son, and the sheriff is a very important man in the world of small-town politics.