The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(18)

And I’m slowly starting to fall in the second category. She picked at her fingernails, a little afraid of what he might really think of her, the good girl who went to church and doted on her cat. “Sorry. It just sounded…um…”

He turned away. “I do, actually. He and my dad are all I have. My mom died when I was young. It’s just the three of us, and Grandpa raised me, pretty much.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Kyle attacked the yard with the rake, pulling up grass as he worked. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”

An awkward silence followed, begging to be filled. Faith rose from the step. “So, um, what Violet said. Uh, about the kissing thing. Don’t feel like you have to…”

She trailed off and his shoulders bowed. “I wasn’t. Not unless you ask.”

A tiny breath escaped her mouth. Was he saying he would kiss her if she wanted him to? Not surprising—his kisses were cheap, apparently—but he sounded reluctant. Like he, for once, didn’t want to kiss the girl right in front of him. Like she might not be worth the extra effort…and that stung.

She squashed her doubts down deep. This was business. He’d made his motivation for agreeing clear: to get back at Cameron for some past sin. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to do this?”

The raking became even more violent. “I thought I did.”

“You have a score to settle. From middle school.”

“That’s right.” He paused to look at her, and his closed-off expression told her not to press.

“Okay. I’ll quit bugging you while you work.” She went to the back door, an ache burning in her chest, although she didn’t know why. Why should she care about his demons? “I’ll be ready to go shopping in the morning.”

He didn’t answer, and she wandered into the house. She really wanted to dance, and the smooth wood floors beneath her feet begged her to stay, but she needed to get away from Kyle and his chameleon moods. First sweet, then guarded, then dark, and she’d had enough of trying to figure out the right things to say around him.

Without a backward glance, she shut the porch door behind her, leaving Kyle alone to wrestle with his rake and his moods.





Chapter Thirteen


Kyle


The sound of the door being pushed shut seemed to echo for an entire minute. He just couldn’t stop saying the wrong thing, could he? Every single time.

Kyle growled in frustration, hacking at the stubborn clump of Bermuda grass growing at the base of the Gladwells’ big oak. He wanted to avoid spraying the grass with chemicals to kill it off, but it wouldn’t let go, and he didn’t have the time or patience to pull it all up.

Then again, now that Faith was in the house, he had nothing but time. He’d scared her away, and why? Because some hurts went too deep. He didn’t want to open up about the time some kid had scrawled fag onto his locker door, or how Cameron’s best friend had tripped him in the cafeteria, sending him—and his tray—reeling. Right into Rebecca Jamison, the girl he’d secretly liked for months, who’d ended up plastered with butterscotch pudding. She’d screamed at him in front of everyone, reducing him to a speck of nothing at her feet.

But it was talking about Grandpa that made too much feeling well up the back of his throat. After spending too many years avoiding it, vulnerability wasn’t something he liked to show off in public. Especially in front of a cute girl with a rabid friend who’d been nothing but kind to him.

Unfortunately, now Faith thought he was mad at her, and he had no idea how to undo the damage. Was he always going to be that scared, scarred seventh grader inside? Would he figure out how to talk to a perfectly nice girl? She was exactly the kind of girl he daydreamed of meeting, but nothing he said worked out right.

Maybe he should stick to gardening and baseball. Those two things, he understood.

He put his earbuds in and went to work clearing out the last of the ornamentals that would have to go. By the time he finished, it was late afternoon and his back ached. Once again, hours had passed and he’d missed them all.

Neither Faith nor Mrs. Gladwell came out to tell him good-bye. It was just as well. He had one last chore to complete. He drove home and parked in the garage, but didn’t get out. Time to start a wildfire—and he knew exactly who he’d hand the match to.

He pulled out his phone and texted Tristan. Man, what’s up?

T: Nothing much. You?

Kyle sighed. This was it—the line was about to be crossed. No turning back now. I met someone from Suttonville this weekend. She’s hot. You know that Faith Gladwell girl? Dancer?

T: Yeah. ’Course I know her. She was Cameron’s girlfriend. Heard she wouldn’t put out. Not your type.

K: Really? She seemed pretty into me yesterday. You know me—I’ll take a rebound. Lots of fun and they don’t stay long.

T: You’re gonna hit that? Bullshit.

K: Twenty bucks says I am. By the time we go back to school.

T: Dude, you’re on. Easiest twenty bucks ever.

Kyle winced. Tristan didn’t need the cash, but he’d lose this bet based on Kyle’s lie. But that’s what he did—lied. Unfortunately, he’d become very good at it.

He went inside. Dad and Grandpa were laughing about something in the living room. The sounds of a hockey game played in the background, and the scent of pizza lured him forward.