Boys Like You

Rachel.

Did the girl not understand that some of us have to work? Didn’t she know that some of us have court-appointed work dates to keep our asses out of juvie? Anger rushed through me with a hot, hard thrust, and I had to take a minute. What part of that didn’t she get?

Ever since the accident, she acted as if nothing had changed. Like we were the same. Like she needed us to be the same to deal with the fact that Trevor was in the hospital and probably never coming out.

But I couldn’t do that, and whenever I tried to talk to her about it, she shut me down. She tried to change the subject or tried to have sex. She was willing to do pretty much anything not to talk about that night, but pretending that everything was going to be okay was freaking exhausting.

God, Rachel was so exhausting.

I heaved a sigh and glanced at the text message.

Find a way to come. I miss u.

Her words were like sugar, but they made me angrier than I already was, and I considered calling her right there and then. I considered having it out right there and then, but after a few moments, I turned off my cell instead and shoved it into my front pocket. This had to be done face-to-face.

I dunked the edge of my paintbrush in the can and spread another coat of fresh black paint over the iron fence section I was working on. It was close to five and I was about half done with the job. I figured if I got an early start on Monday, I’d have the entire fence finished by noon. Or I could just keep painting until dark, because it’s not like I had anything better to do.

I paused for a bit and grabbed a bottle of water out of my bag, my gaze focused on the smaller house, beyond the plantation home. I took a good long drink, not taking my eyes from the place.

Monroe.

No, more like Princess Monroe. I smiled at that. Princess Monroe with the big chip on her shoulder.

What the hell was her story?

I suppose most guys would consider her hot. Heck, I considered her hot. That little tank top she had been wearing showed some curves, and with all that dark hair and big eyes, she was definitely nice to look at. But her attitude was not something I wanted to tangle with. I was pretty sure she was high maintenance and a snob to boot. She was from New York City, after all.

Shit. I screwed the cap back onto my water bottle and tossed it back into my bag. Technically, I was still with Rachel, even if mentally I’d left weeks ago, so why was I even thinking about this girl?

“Nathan?”

Surprised, I turned as Mrs. Blackwell walked toward me. Where the hell had she come from? She was a nice lady, and I’d always liked her, especially considering she was a huge football fan. She didn’t miss a Friday night game and sure liked to ride Coach when she didn’t agree with a play.

I smiled. “Hey, Mrs. Blackwell. I’m okay to keep going, if that’s all right with you.”

She smiled back at me, and as I studied her, I realized exactly where Princess Monroe got her unusual eye color. Funny, I’d never noticed it before, but then again, it’s not like I spent much time checking out anyone over the age of twenty-five. That would be weird.

“You most certainly will not. It’s five o’clock, and you’ve been out here for hours.” She glanced at the fence and her eyes softened some more. “It looks wonderful, Nathan.”

For a moment, the two of us stared at the half-done fence that surrounded her family crypt. The iron had been forged into a pretty intricate design, and though I thought it was kinda creepy—keeping your family bones on the property—I wasn’t about to judge anyone. Around these parts, a lot of folks did the same.

“All I did was slap some paint on it, Mrs. Blackwell. It’s pretty hard to screw that up.”

“I suppose.” She smiled and turned back to me, her hands on her hips. “Your uncle called. He’s been trying to get hold of you but your cell phone must be dead. He’s still having problems at one of his work sites, so he won’t be able to give you a lift home.”

Her eyes settled on me with a clarity that made me uncomfortable. Of course she knew about that night. Of course she knew that I was suspended from driving. Everyone in the whole freaking parish knew about that night.

I thought of the fridge at home. It was full of Dad’s beer, and I knew that if I locked myself away in the dark and took the time to get good and drunk, then maybe I wouldn’t think about that night. I wouldn’t care about the dark holes in my head. The ones that I’d been desperate to fill. The ones that shouldn’t be there. The ones that wo

uld tell me why I’d been so damn stupid.

But for now, I just wanted to forget everything.

“Come have dinner with us—”

I started to protest. “No, really, Mrs. Blackwell, I’ll just head home. I don’t mind.”

“Nathan Everets.”