Toe the Line(6)

Clearing my throat, I chided, “Who’s the one not knocking now?”

“That was pretty crazy earlier, huh? The way we first ran into each other?”

Uh, why is he bringing that up? “Not my finest moment,” I mumbled.

“You should’ve seen your face.” He laughed.

I rolled my eyes. “I can only imagine.”

He grinned. “Actually, you want to see your face?”

“What are you talking about?”

He then presented a piece of paper I hadn’t realized he was holding behind his back. “I drew you.”

He handed me a sketch. It was a female…who looked remarkably like me. She was totally naked. And upon closer inspection, her body looked like mine, too—from the shape of her breasts to the amount of pubic hair. Okay, so this was a full-on portrait of me. I’d assumed he barely had time to notice my features, but apparently not.

“My, don’t you have a photographic memory,” I said, continuing to stare at the drawing. Then I noticed a caption underneath: Naked and Afraid, AR

A and R were his initials.

“Consider it a peace offering.” He smirked.

“You could’ve given me, oh, I don’t know…flowers, instead of a frighteningly accurate naked portrait of myself.”

He chuckled. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Anyway…” I looked down at it again, noticing even more details, like the freckles on my chest. “You’re really good.”

“Well, my dad would disagree. He calls my artwork doodling, so…”

“Don’t listen to him,” I snapped. “You’re talented.”

His eyes darted to mine and stayed there a few seconds before he looked away. “Anyway, who the fuck puts a bathroom between two bedrooms like this, anyway? It’s like…pick one or the other.”

“I think it was designed for siblings to share or something.”

“Dumb.” His eyes lingered on mine again. “I know I joked about it earlier, but you do look a lot different than I remember.”

My cheeks burned. “What you mean to say is you don’t remember what I looked like before because I was invisible to you.” I glanced down at the drawing. “Based on this, I sort of wish I was still invisible.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course, I remember you. Even if you seem to think I was a dick and anti-social, I remember you. You used to wear two different-colored socks and pull them up to your knees.”

Wow. That was my thing when I was fifteen. “That was in back then.”

“You also used to have braces, and now you don’t.”

I shook my head. “I’m blown away that you remember those things.”

“So, anyway, as I was saying earlier, Xavier is a douche. Stay away from him. Those girls you’re hanging out with? Douchettes. They’re trouble, too.”

“Who in particular?”

“Cici Kravitz.”

“You don’t like her? Didn’t you used to date her sister?”

“Ah, we’re doing our research, are we?” He raised a brow. “I did, for a brief time the summer before my freshman year of college.”

“Well, it seems you hurt her pretty badly.”

“I guess you believe everything you’re told.”

“It’s not true?”

“I never promised her anything. It was a summer thing. She’s bitter, so she talks shit about me. Just remember what I said about them. They’re no good. I’ve been coming here every summer since I was a kid. I know everyone. You want to know whether someone’s legit, just ask me.”

I lifted my brow. “And you’re so respectable yourself?”

His eyes widened. “You really dislike me, huh?”

“No.” I shook my head and chuckled. “I don’t know you. I can’t hate someone I don’t know.”

“You’ve just assumed certain things in the meantime.”

“Yes, because of how distant you’ve seemed in the past.”

“Maybe I was just shy. Did you ever think of that?”

“I doubt it.”

“Let’s clear some things up.” He moved to sit on the edge of my bed, putting me on edge. “What’s one impression you have of me?”

“That you’re stuck up,” I said immediately.

He crossed his arms. “I could’ve assumed the same about you—that you were a smart, know-it-all, overachiever who wanted nothing to do with the dumb jock son of your parents’ friends. Because you also never made an effort to get to know me.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.” My eyes narrowed. “And who said I was smart?”

“Your parents are always bragging about you.”

“Yeah, well, your mom brags about you, too.”

“Exactly.” He huffed. “My mom, not my dad, right?”

Crap. I’d touched that sore spot. “Yeah…your mom always has amazing things to say about you.”

“And yet you think I’m an asshole, for some godforsaken reason.”

“You know what? You’re right. I made assumptions about you. You’ve just always been elusive.” I crossed my arms.