Little Lies

The living room is blissfully empty, the low drone of ESPN playing in the background. No one is watching, though, and I soon discover that’s because they’re all outside.

There have to be at least two dozen people in the backyard. Lots of them girls. On a Tuesday, for shit’s sake. I spot BJ, so I have to assume the rest of his housemates must be out there too. It’s very likely that Kodiak is among them, despite his dislike of social events that aren’t hockey games.

So much for a peaceful, quiet swim.

I make a pit stop at the fridge, debating whether I should make myself a sandwich, when the French doors open and the sounds of girls screaming and someone cannonballing into the pool stream in. I don’t bother to check who it is, since I don’t particularly care. I need food, and then I can disappear into my bedroom and forget about this crappy class I can’t get out of.

No one addresses me, so I assume it’s one of the girls coming in to use the bathroom. I grab the ham, lettuce, and mustard and set them on the counter, letting the fridge fall closed. I groan my annoyance when I spot the loaf of bread on top of the fridge. My brothers seem to think this is the logical place to keep carbohydrate products.

My height makes it exceedingly difficult for me when they put things up high. And they probably do so on purpose. Maverick thinks it’s hilarious when I have to jump to get stuff, likely because my vertical is abysmal. They also constantly buy whole grain bread—never the nice, plain, soft, stick-to-the-roof-of-your-mouth white stuff.

I push up on my tiptoes and mash my chest against the stainless steel door, reaching for the end of the bag. It’s just beyond my grasp.

“Say please and I’ll get it for you.”

I spin around and find Kodiak standing less than six inches away. His pale green eyes are fixed on me, but the only emotion in them is passive disdain. I will my own eyes to shift to the side and not down, but they don’t obey.

As a child, I saw Kodiak in swim shorts all the time. Our families were always together for barbecues, birthday parties—any excuse for our parents to hang out meant our nannies also got together with us.

Kodiak has always been a bigger-than-average kid. He hit his first growth spurt at eleven, and by the time he was fourteen, it was clear he was going to be more than six-feet. At nineteen, he was six-three. He was a lanky teen, but tall and with broad shoulders that promised to fill out in time.

Time has done its job. And so has Kodiak’s rigidity and his obsession with being the absolute best. He’s ripped—all hard edges and cut muscles. Broad shoulders, defined biceps, thick veins roping down his forearms. A chiseled chest and six-pack abs leading down to the slice of V that disappears into his basic, black swim shorts.

Fuck. I’m ogling him. My heart stutters in my chest, and color explodes in my cheeks as he leans in.

He’s so close that his wet hair brushes my temple, and I can feel his hot breath and the cool radiating from his skin. “You look hungry, Lavender.”

I recoil, hating the way my body reacts to his low, taunting tone. I’m aware he’s making fun of me, that he knows he’s physically appealing and I’m not immune. I hate that it hurts to be so horribly dismissed over and over again by someone who once meant so much to me.

I take an unsteady step back and hit the counter. He moves forward, one hand landing beside me, the other gripping the fridge door. His gaze moves over my face and drops to my mouth. My immediate response is to suck my bottom lip between my teeth and hide the scar.

Something in his expression shifts, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Nothing has changed.”

“You’re right. I still hate you, and you’re still an asshole.”

He grins, the dimple in his cheek popping. “Only one of those things is true.”

The French doors open. “Kody? Are you coming back out? ’Cause if you wanna go, I’m cool with that too.”

I glance past him to the tall, lithe, bikini-clad girl. She’s not the girl from the first day of school, although I have seen that one since. She’s been here, in the pool and all over Kodiak, during their many parties.

I hate that relief is the first thing I feel. Her eyes narrow when she sees me, and it’s my turn to sneer. “It’s kind of embarrassing that you’re so used to bunnies falling all over you that you’ve forgotten how to act like a human being,” I note, meeting Kodiak’s eyes. “I guess it’s good that you don’t have to rely on your winning personality to get laid.”