The Naked Truth (The Honeybrook Hamdens)

Then again, that might have had something to do with the way he was staring at her. With a vague, crooked smile, like she was a memory of something he wanted to hold on to.

She squared her jaw, swallowing hard a

s she walked through the throng of people and settled herself on a barstool. After a cursory glance at his dark blue button down shirt and faded jeans, she raised her eyebrows and said, "Can I talk to my brother?"

"So it is you,” he said. Like he hadn't heard her question.

Typical.

"Of course it's me,” she said. "Now--"

"I could hardly recognize you with that hair. Wow. Your mom must hate it."

She reached for her blunt, dirty blond bangs before she realize what she was doing. Then, flipping one long pigtail behind her shoulder, she said. "She'll get used to it. Now where's--"

"He's in the back. What can I do you for?"

"I just need to talk to him."

"You don't want a beer? It's on the house." His vague smile tilted even higher.

"Look, Chase. Just find Luke for me."

"Jules, you don't have to--"

"It's Julie."

"No, it's not." He stared her down, then, after a slight pause, he turned his back and walked away. Only when she saw him grabbing a glass and pouring a beer did she give herself the opportunity to breathe again.

I don't feel anything. It's in the past and I don't have to give him the power or satisfaction of letting him know he gets to me.

She glanced around the place, noticing a few more familiar faces from high school. Even some of the kids from The Hills were here, sipping on martinis and other fruity concoctions.

Some other people she didn't recognize were here too, but there was no doubt about it--the place was packed.

Why hadn't Luke mentioned the place was such a success?

Her heart swelled with pride for him, but then she jumped as something cold slopped onto her forearm, soaking through her sweatshirt.

"What the--" She looked down to find a frosted beer glass in front of her, full to the brim. And behind it? A determined-looking Chase Westmore.

"Peace offering," he said, then nodded toward the beer.

Rage wasn't the word.

Rage was something that could be soothed with vengeance. But staring at Chase Westmore? She knew vengeance wouldn't be enough.

She wanted to own him. She wanted to wring him out and hang him up.

She wanted to make a chair of his bones.

"This is your peace offering? A beer?" She sipped it. "A Bud Light?”

“It was your favorite--"

"When I was sixteen." A few people nearby glanced over at her, and as heat rushed to her face, she fought to keep her voice down. "How are you not getting this? There will be no peace. I want nothing to do with you. I thought I had made that perfectly clear."

"Even after all this time?" Chase asked, his arms crossing over his chest.