The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,10

Still, I did nothing because a part of me wanted this to happen. Even though it wasn’t in my best interest, it was in Ever’s, which was enough for me. “And when no one else except us is looking, you dote and fawn and screw Four, rather loudly I might add.” My eyebrows rose at that, but thankfully, no one noticed. “And in front of your supposed girlfriend.”

“Lou, it’s not our business,” Wren bit out.

Ignoring her boyfriend, who was seriously intimidating, Lou turned to Four. “I know Tyra said she wouldn’t judge, but I made no such promise. I respect the hell out of you, Four. I might even look up to you.” Lou looked on the verge of shedding a tear when she said, “You’re the big sister I’ll never have.”

“Wait one fucking minute,” Ever said with a growl. “This so-called breakfast is a goddamn intervention, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” shouted everyone, except Four, Ever, and me.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he spat.

Four finally glanced my way as if remembering I was there, and I wasn’t sure what she saw, but I had a pretty good guess when her gaze became worried. I gritted my teeth as the girl I used to be raged internally at me for being so weak.

“Something is up,” Vaughn said. “And if you don’t tell us right now what’s going on, that vein in Jamie’s forehead is going to burst.”

“Let me guess,” Ever responded with a lick of his lips. “This was all his idea.”

“Of course,” Jamie answered proudly.

“We only agreed because it’s driving us crazy, too,” Tyra rushed to explain.

“Tell us what the hell is going on with you three,” Vaughn demanded.

“If it was any of your business”—Ever stood up—“we would have told you.” Taking Four’s arm, he pulled her from the chair before nodding toward me. All the grace and poise that had been drilled into me since I was thirteen years old was forgotten as I stood on shaking legs and followed. I could feel Jamie’s angry glare and knew he’d seek retribution for things not going his way.

And, as always, he’d look to me to pay the price.

The hours after Four and Ever returned me home blurred together. Jamie seemed to be taking his sweet time, knowing that I was anticipating his arrival. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were biding his time until I lost my nerve. It was a shame how easily he could get under my skin. Then again… maybe he’d never left, not even after all these years.

Rather than give him what he wanted, I locked my door—even though I was home alone—shoved aside my nightstand, and lifted the floorboard underneath. Once I found what I needed, I grabbed my bag and headed out. Since neither my oxfords nor my five-inch heels were appropriate for the terrain, I dug out the cheap flip-flops my mother had no idea I’d purchased. There was no telling where my parents were or when they’d be back, but it was a risk I was willing to take. The walk through the small forested area surrounding my house was short. A pity, really. Sometimes, I wished these woods were large enough to get lost in.

Reaching a familiar glade, I sat down against my favorite tree and pulled out the one true treasure I had left. Using both hands to hold it to my lips, I blew into and through a few of the ten holes. The tune I played was simple, the only one I’d learned on this old harmonica, but it always managed to make my heart flutter with nostalgia.

I felt a tear slip by the time I reached the end. I dropped the harmonica to my lap, but I didn’t bother to wipe it away before pulling out my journal and pen and settling back against the tree once more. Instantly, I was transported back to a different tree six years ago, where my first kiss was so brazenly stolen. Putting pen to paper, I poured what little feelings I still allowed myself onto a clean page.

I should have seen it coming

It was right there in your eyes

The window to your soul

My lips your window to mine

I had no secrets when you kissed me

And, clever boy, you knew it well

But those days are gone now

I’ve wished your love farewell

An hour and three poems later, I shoved the journal and harmonica inside my bag. I felt like a fool, but I couldn’t help thinking that it was better than feeling nothing at all. I’ve had that