Boys Like You(32)

Deflecting like I always did.

He held up a few bags. “Running errands for my mom. You?”

“Same. I need some peaches for my gram.”

I moved toward the booth, aware that Brent followed, and when I paid for the peaches, he grabbed my bag. “I’ll help you with this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to, Sugar, but us good old southern boys are all about helping when we can.”


I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s not as if I had a lot of practice making small talk with boys. In fact, I had zero practice.

“What do you want?” I asked abruptly, coming to a full stop and wincing because I knew I sounded like a bitch. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so…I just…” I sighed. “I don’t know what I mean.”

And I didn’t. What was wrong with me?

“Don’t worry about it.” He laughed. “I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re different from most girls around here.”

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“There’s not much to figure out,” I retorted. Different? What the hell did that mean?

We reached the entrance, and I felt the heat from outside slide across my skin. I spotted Gram across the way, chatting with a few ladies, her arms heavy with vegetables.

“Look,” Brent said. “Nate is one of my best buddies, and right now he’s going through some shit. Some really bad shit.”

“I know.” I moved so that the large woman who’d nearly run me over earlier could pass.

“He told you about what happened?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Look, the thing is, none of us knows where his head is at.

He broke up with Rachel. He’s not talking to any of us, and the guy won’t even pick up his guitar. That’s just wrong. God, it’s wrong on so many levels. I heard what happened at the hospital.

I heard that Mr. Lewis rode his ass hard.”

“It wasn’t pretty.”

“You were there?” He seemed surprised.

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe you can…” Brent seemed at a loss and hunched his shoulders, kicking the ground with his shoes.

“I can what?”

“Maybe you can help him. He needs something, you know?

Something good right now, because as long as Trevor’s in the 130

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hospital, Nate is stuck in all the shit that happened that night, and honestly? It could have been any one of us behind the wheel.

Shit happens. Mistakes happen.”

“Were you there?” I asked, more than a little curious.

Brent handed me my bag, his eyes on the ground.

“Yeah. I was there that night. I got there late. Had a fight with the girl I’d been dating, so I was stone sober. I offered to drive them home before I got into it but…”

“But what?”

He looked up and I saw moisture in his eyes. Brent exhaled and shrugged, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “Trevor said no. He told me that Nate was good, and I believed him. I guess Nathan’s not the only one who screwed up that night. I should have checked, but I didn’t. I knew those guys were partying hard, but they were always good about the driving thing. They took turns. We all did.” He sighed. “I was pissed and all I wanted to do was crack open my bottle of Jack and hopefully get laid.”

Brent swore and ran his hands across his chin, his eyes on me. “I wish we could go back, you know? Back to before that night when everything was good. Because nothing is the same, and it sucks.”

No shit.

“Hi, Mrs. Blackwell.” He waved to Gram as I took a step forward, but his hand stopped me. “What are you doing tonight?”

Warily, I studied him for a moment, wondering what his angle was. “Nothing. Why?”

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“A bunch of us jam at the Coffee House every other Friday.

It’s a small place in town. We do acoustic stuff. Lots of singing.

Playing. It’s a good time. You should come.”

I wasn’t sure what was going on. Was Brent asking me out?

“Unless you want to stay home with your grandma and watch Jeopardy,” he continued. “’Cause I’m sure that will be a good time too.”

And that was pretty much what the evening held for me. Not that I didn’t like being with Gram, but there was only so much Jeopardy I could take.

Surprisingly, I kinda wanted to go, except…

“I don’t really know anyone.”

He arched an eyebrow. “You know Nathan. Tell him to come, and while you’re at it, tell him to bring his guitar.”

I started to protest, but Brent cut me off.

“He needs this, Monroe. It can’t hurt to ask.” He paused and smiled so sweetly at me that I was pretty sure it was something he’d done a hundred times before. “Please?”

Gram was at the car by now, loading her bags into the trunk.