The Bad Boy Bargain (Suttonville Sentinels #1)(19)

“Look who’s home!” Dad crowed, toasting his arrival with a beer.

Dorky as it might be, a rush of affection overtook him. At home, people were glad to see him, which helped when the welcome wasn’t as kind at school. “Any pizza left for me?”

“Bought you a medium supreme so you wouldn’t have to share,” Grandpa said. “Figured you’d be as starved as a wolf pup after working all day.”

“You’re my favorite grandpa,” Kyle said. “I’m going to shower. Down in five.”

“He’s your only grandpa,” Dad called after him.

Maybe, but it didn’t make it any less true.



The next morning, Kyle showed up at the Gladwells’ house promptly at nine, wearing clothes a little too nice for gardening. It wasn’t like taking Faith flower shopping was a date, but he’d had a sudden urge to look decent when considering a pair of ratty cargo shorts and a T-shirt with a hole in the underarm. He’d gone to his closet, realizing he had way too much black in his wardrobe. For some reason, that hadn’t cut it, either.

So here he was, in a pair of khaki shorts, a dark blue Polo and a pair of Sperrys without socks, feeling more and more self-conscious as he waited for the door to open. He hadn’t dressed this preppy in town in years. The outfit was from vacation last summer, when Dad insisted that he have “nice restaurant on the beach” attire for their trip to the Florida Keys. Grandpa had choked on his Mountain Dew when Kyle wore the outfit the first time.

And now he was wearing it again. He’d thrown the ratty shorts and T-shirt into a drawstring backpack to change into later, but what would Faith think about his clothes?

He paused. When had he started worrying about how he looked around her? It wasn’t like they were dating. Not really. Right? He stared at her front door, hoping he wasn’t making a giant mistake. Shaking his head, he pushed the doorbell.

No one answered. He rang again. Nothing.

He checked the time on his phone: 9:02. Okay, what was taking her so long? She had to be here—the only car in their driveway was a yellow Volkswagen Bug with those silly accessory eyelashes on the headlights. If that wasn’t Faith’s car, he’d eat his shoe.

He raised his hand to knock, in case the bell was broken, just as Faith flung it open. Now he could see why it had taken her a minute. Her hair was damp, and she had on wrinkled PJ shorts and a tank top.

Her cheeks turned pink after she took a look at him. “Sorry—I overslept.”

“It happens,” he said, distracted by the miles of bare leg those shorts left uncovered. “Um, I can wait out here if you want.”

“No, no, come in,” she said, waving him inside. “You look…nice.”

She said it like a question and he bit back a smile. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“It’s just…” She frowned, peering at him. “You usually wear a lot of black. And a hoodie.”

Now it was his turn to flush. Maybe he shouldn’t have made such an effort. “Only to school.”

She led him through an entry with a staircase into a living room made homey with soft leather furniture, hand-scraped wood floors, and a piano in the corner. “You play?” he asked.

“No, I sing, mostly. Joy—my older sister—plays.”

The smile he’d been trying to swallow came back full force. “Joy. Faith and Joy?”

She rolled her eyes. “And Hope. Hope, Joy, and Faith Gladwell. Our parents hate us.”

That eye roll—a good-natured weariness over the joke of her name—broke something inside him. What was it with this girl? So much humor and sweetness and talent in one person wasn’t something you found every day. Maybe there was some magic in the name her parents had chosen. “I’d say the opposite. Naming their kids Hope, Joy, and Faith? They love you, I think.” He snorted. “They always could’ve named you Grace, Patience, and Chastity.”

“I think those are implied,” she said, smiling a little herself.

“Which one of those three are you?” he said, his voice going deeper, husky, of its own accord.

Her shoulders slumped. “You know what Cameron would say.”

“Unfortunately, everyone knows what Cameron would say.” He took a step toward her, keeping his eyes fixed on her face. “But what about you?”

“I’d love to say Grace, but maybe once you get to know me, you can decide for yourself,” she murmured. “I’m going to run upstairs and change. Make yourself at home.”

She dashed toward the entry, and a moment later, he heard her pounding up the stairs. “You don’t have to rush on my account,” he called. “We have time.”

“Yes, but I hate being late!” she called back.

That didn’t surprise him. He wandered through the living room. Every surface was covered with family photos, and dozens of tiny Faiths smiled at him from every direction. Dance photos from recitals. Christmas mornings. School pictures. And, on the back wall, three senior photos, one of each sister. All of them were pretty, but Faith had a shine to her the other two lacked, something that said, “I’m special. You’ll like me.” More proof Cameron was a raging ass. This girl wasn’t someone you walked away from. She was fast becoming the kind of girl he’d have trouble walking away from.