Bad Boy Blues(49)

Does he even know how to read? Highly doubtful. I bet he never learned.

And that’s just one example.

For years, I’ve ridiculed Zach’s intellect and his lack of focus in school. Both to his face and privately.

What if it all started with one little comment that I made? What if the years of vendetta and hatred could’ve been avoided if I hadn’t said that one thing?

I’m not going to go all martyr and say it’s all my fault. But I’ve always blamed Zach and maybe, just maybe, I’m not entirely blameless myself.

“Blue! Look!”

Art’s voice brings me out of my thoughts. I’m at the kitchen island, prepping dinner, when he comes rushing in.

I’m so glad he’s over what happened to him last week. These days if I’m watching him, he doesn’t get to go anywhere further than my front yard. Where I was flung over Zach last night, to be specific.

“Look!” he repeats, spreading his arms wide, grinning.

Shaking all thoughts of last night, I round the island and lean against it. “Oh my God!” I exclaim. “Look at you, dude. Where did you get all this?”

He’s wearing his usual jeans and a black Batman t-shirt, but he has a motorcycle jacket on and a pair of sunglasses. The sleeves of his jacket are adorned with little balls of flames and gosh, he looks like a badass.

“Zach gave ’em to me,” he squeals.

His name makes me go still and look up to find him at the door. At the very threshold. He’s wearing the same leather jacket but no sunglasses and no balls of flames. I guess he doesn’t need them.

He’s kind of on fire already, with his bronzed skin, rough stubble and intense gaze.

I can’t take my eyes off Zach and I’m not even going to try. This is the first time I’m seeing him all day. He wasn’t working out this morning, nor was he in the kitchen like he usually is, with Maggie doting over him. I assumed he was sleeping off his hangover.

Does he even remember that we met last night?

“He said I could wear it to school,” Art says while I’m still looking at Zach.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes! He says I’ll look super cool in it. No one would mess with me.”

Art makes a fist and growls and I throw out a broken laugh. I reach over and pat his cowlick. But when I speak, I’m looking at Zach. “Zach’s right. No one would dare mess with you. You’re gonna show everyone how badass you are.”

I’ve always been expendable. An afterthought.

My eyes get watery when his words echo in my head. His eyes, however, get hard, unflinching and opaque.

Nothing in them suggests that he remembers what happened last night.

A second later, he breaks the stare and takes a step back from the threshold as if leaving.

“Wait,” I call out.

He stops and throws me a glance.

“Are you leaving?”

“Looks like it.”

“Don’t.” I rush to explain, “I mean, we’re just going to have dinner. Art and I. Tina’s not here. And then, we’re going to just hang out until Doris comes back from her shift. So, uh, you could stay if you wanted to.”

And fuck whoever sees him here. We’re not doing anything wrong. It’s just an innocent dinner.

His frown is more like thunder than the mere crease of muscles, but I’m not afraid of it. And neither is Art. He dashes over to Zach, grabs his hand and pulls him inside.

“Yes! It’s gonna be fun. Blue’s making pancakes. It’s breakfast for dinner day.”

“It is. To cure the Monday blues.” I nod, staring at Zach.

“She makes the best pancakes ever,” Art informs Zach as he brings him closer.

“It’s true. I do. My dad taught me.”

A somber expression passes over Zach’s face at the mention of my dad. I can’t believe I mentioned him so casually when I make sure to never talk about my parents. If I don’t talk about them, then I don’t miss them.

But I guess I can talk about them with Zach.

Step by step, he comes closer and my ability to think shrinks to only one thing: does he remember?

Does he remember last night? Does he remember what I said to him the very first time we met?

He stops a few feet away from me, still being held by Art, who’s talking excitedly. I can see him hopping on his feet but I can’t really tell what he’s saying.

I grab the edge of the counter and breathe the fresh scent of blueberry pie wafting off Zach.

Zach’s eyes drop to my lips. “I like ’em extra sweet.”

I find myself nodding. “Yeah. Okay. I have syrup.”

He looks up. “You do.”

“Yes. All kinds of them. Chocolate and maple and strawberry. You can have whatever you want.”

I realize I’m talking kind of fast and kind of breathily, like I can’t get enough air just because he’s sucking me dry with his eyes.

“Whatever I want, huh?”

Oh, and I also accidentally said the same exact thing as I did the night I snuck into his room.

My reply is different this time, though.

Against a pounding heart, I nod again. “Yeah. Whatever you want.”

Zach roves his eyes over my features, probably trying to gauge my feelings, and I give him a small smile.