which of these shops would you like to go in and how long does it, um, take you to pick an outfit?”
I want to kick the fucker in the shin, but because he just told me his dad is dying, I can’t. I can’t play him up. He already looks pale, probably imagining the amount of time he’s got to sit inside a shop.
Before I can even take a breath, two people ahead catch my eye, and I panic. My breathing speeds up as I turn, shoving Clayton away from me. He was meant to go inside the shop, but when he begins to fall, I want to cry. I walk off when he hits the beautician stand, knocking a display of gift boxes all over the floor.
Crap!
I speed-walk faster and paste on a smile when Charlotte and Aunt Kayla wave.
“Hayden,” Charlotte calls out.
If it had been any other female in my family, I’d be good, but Charlotte doesn’t know how to keep a secret, or be subtle.
And I don’t need my dad being… well, being him.
Aunt Kayla looks like she’s trying not to laugh, and I know she saw me push Clayton. But there’s no way I’m addressing it, not now. Not ever.
“What the hell, Hayden?” Clayton yells, just as Charlotte and Kayla reach me.
I groan, glancing up to the sky.
“Hi Charlotte, Aunt Kayla,” I greet, pretending not to have heard Clayton.
“You just knocked me over,” he snaps, walking up beside me.
“Do you know him?” Charlotte asks, staring in awe at the man beside me.
“He’s homeless. I’m feeding him.”
“He doesn’t look homeless to me,” Aunt Kayla announces, waggling her eyebrows at me.
I scrunch my nose up, glaring at her. “He is,” I snap.
“Homeless?” he asks, anger from the push gone and replaced with confusion.
Charlotte claps her hands in excitement. “You aren’t Satan like the others call you, you’re an angel. I’m so proud of you.”
Clayton chuckles beside me, so I shove my elbow in his stomach.
“Thank—Wait, they call me fucking Satan?”
“Why am I not surprised,” Clayton mumbles.
Charlotte’s forehead creases, and her lips form a pout. “Yes, all the time. Though it’s mostly the men in our family. Your dad was telling mine about you finding his sweet stash this morning.”
That is it.
“How dare he accuse me. Did you know?” I ask, looking at my aunt.
She tries to hide her smile but it’s useless. “I tuned them out, but there was something about a lock box and code.”
He can’t prove it was me. He can’t. And I’m offended he’s even accused me. I’m fed up of getting the blame, even if I did do it.
“And video,” Charlotte adds, pushing strands of her fiery red hair out of her face.
“Video?” I gulp, feeling the blood drain from my face.
Well, that explains the twenty-three missed calls when I woke up.
“Yeah, he said he had video evidence.”
“Oh God,” I groan. “I’m so screwed.”
Clayton clears his throat, bringing everyone’s attention to him. Charlotte smiles, reaching for her pocket and pulling out a five-pound note. “Do you need more food? Not that you look like you’re starving. Oh God, that was rude. I mean, you just seem to be in good shape.”
I burst out laughing, causing her to stop her rambling. He gently puts his hand up, declining the money. “I’m not homeless.”
I can feel his accusing gaze on me.
Charlotte looks from him to me before taking a step back. “He’s not another creeper, is he?” she whispers-yells.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“No,” Clayton yells. “I’m—”
“He’s helping with Faith’s hen party,” I blurt out, turning to glare at him. When he opens his mouth, I elbow him in his side again. “Aren’t you?”
“Um, yes?” he questions, and I roll my eyes.
His expression is comical right now, looking at me like I’m crazy.
“You found somewhere for the hen and stag party?”
“The stag party?” I ask Aunt Kayla, clearing my head. No one mentioned the stag party to me.
“Yes, she wants a joint one now. Beau’s friends might not make it down in time, so she said to do it as a family and friends thing, somewhere they can go at the same time.”
Stuck on the spot, I stare at Clayton with wide eyes. “Um, Clayton had some ideas, didn’t you?”
His mouth opens and closes, his face a little pale. “Um, Mingles.”
“Mingles?” Kayla questions, her forehead creasing.
“Yes, it’s um… it’s a club?”
I face him once again, glaring. “Are you asking or telling us?” I snap. A bloody club. It’s a hen and stag party, not a Friday night. We