“She thinks I’m lovely,” I singsong under my breath.
“Only because she’s partially blind and senile,” Alex mumbles from the other side of Rhyland.
Since I’m on a roll, I reach around Rhyland and swat Alex on the back of the head.
“Hey,” he gripes, rubbing the back of his head and scowling at me. “I didn’t call you old and senile.”
“But you insulted the woman who took my side,” I point out. “Which is an insult to me.”
Jaxon cracks a tiny, approving smile at me from across the table.
I smile back at him. “Aw, I think you’re going to be my favorite Porterson, kid.”
“Then what am I?” Scarlett interrupts with a joking pout.
“Hmm …” I tap my lips with my fingertip. “How about you can be my favorite chick Porterson and Jaxon can be my favorite dude Porterson?”
“That’s not even remotely accurate.” Blaise rotates a shot glass between his hands, his gaze colliding with mine as I turn my head toward him.
“It completely is,” I assure him haughtily.
He shakes his head, leaning in. “We both know I’m your favorite Porterson.”
“No, we both know that you think my ass and face are beautiful,” I retort, but then bite down on my tongue.
Okay, I really didn’t mean to say that right now. I wanted to chat with him about it when not so many eyes and ears were around, especially Rhyland’s, since it’ll only add fuel to this wager we have going on.
Tension ripples through Blaise’s body. “What’re you talking about?”
“The message you sent me this morning.” I roll my eyes. “Please don’t even try to pretend it wasn’t from you. I have your number programmed into my phone.”
He slants back. “I didn’t … I don’t …” He clears his throat a couple of times then picks up the shot glass and downs half the tequila.
“Hey, that was for the toast,” the old man exclaims, smacking his hand against the table.
Blaise’s face scrunches then his shoulders tremble as he gags. “Sorry. My throat was scratchy. There’s still a little bit left, though.”
“No one tries to get rid of a scratchy throat by drinking tequila.” I pat his hand. “Nice way of trying to divert the subject, though.” As I pull my hand away, he snatches ahold of my fingers.
“Speaking of diverting the subject.” He yanks up the sleeve of my jacket, revealing the bandage underneath. “Where’d this thing come from? Because I know for a fact you didn’t have it wrapped up this morning when you were at my house.
“Why was Hadley at your house this morning?” Scarlett glances between the two of us questioningly.
“Because I needed to borrow some sugar.” I slip my hand from his and tug down the sleeve.
“If you say so.” Doubt and hurt ring in her tone.
Awkward silence trickles through the air as Scarlett sinks back in the chair and traces the cracks in the table. Poor girl looks as heartbroken as a Muppet baby who just learned puppets aren’t real. Guilt clutches at my chest for causing her to look so sad, but I don’t know her well enough to feel comfortable enough to tell her about my family’s drama, especially in front of a bunch of people I don’t know.
“All right, who’s ready to celebrate?” Hunter announces, raising a shot glass.
“What are we even celebrating?” Scarlett asks, reaching for a shot glass.
Hunter glances at Rhyland, who glances at Blaise, who glances at the old man—I seriously need to find out his name.
I slant to the side and whisper to Rhyland, “Who are these old people anyway?”
Rhyland chuckles and says way too loudly, “Hey Jay, Hadley wants to know who the old people are?”
The old man—Jay—glances around the table then his brows dip. “Old people? I don’t see any old people around here. I think your little lady friend might need to get her eyes checked.”
I may not get embarrassed often, but my cheeks flood with heat. “I didn’t say old,” I lie, discreetly elbowing Rhyland in the side.
“You’re so vicious,” Rhyland muses, tucking his elbow protectively against his side. “That’s okay, though. If you weren’t, we wouldn’t get along.”
“We don’t get along,” I remind him, reclining in the chair.
“Sure we don’t.” Sarcasm oozes from his tone. “Just like Blaise and you don’t flirt when you argue.”
“Wait. What?” Blaise leans forward and catches Rhyland’s eyes. “What’re you doing, man?”
Rhyland flashes him a toothy smile then shifts in the seat, twisting toward the other side of the table as he raises a shot glass in the air. “To new beginnings.”
“To new beginnings,” everyone except me says then they each down a shot.
I feel out of place sitting here during a toast that’s clearly between the eight of them and consider excusing myself to the bathroom, but then Blaise reaches over, grabs my wrist, and sticks a shot glass in my hand.
“To new beginnings.” With his gaze welded to mine, he clinks our glasses then moves the brim to his lips and slowly drinks the shot.
I’m not going to lie. It’s kind of sexy. I’m not even positive why nor will I ever admit that to anyone. But in my mind, sure, I can accept that. That Blaise does look sexy as he slowly devours a shot while staring at me in that intense way that makes my blood speed up and my heart rate quicken.
Once he finishes the shot, he sets the glass down and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “Aren’t you going to drink yours?”
“Why would I?” I ask. “I don’t even know what we’re toasting to.”
His lips quirk. “We’re toasting to new beginnings.”
“Obviously, but I’m not sure what those new beginnings are.” I know what my new beginning currently is—working for the most corrupt man in Honeyton. And no way in stupid, sucky land am I toasting to that.
He dips his head closer to mine. “Jay and Sofie just signed the auto shop over to my brothers and me. We’re now the official owners.”
I slant back to meet his gaze. “Are you freakin’ serious?”
He nods, excitement twinkling in his eyes. “I’m completely freakin’ serious.”
“Well, that’s awesome.” I mean it, too.
I may have only known the Porterson brothers for a few weeks now, but I feel like their situation is similar to mine and my sisters. And if someone signed an auto shop over to us, I’d be… well, I feel like maybe I’d be able to swim out of the damn murky water.
“Awesome enough to toast to?” He gives a pressing glance at the shot glass in my hand.
“Sure. Why not?” I throw back the shot, making sure not to finish all of it.
“You didn’t drink it all,” Rhyland notices as I set the glass down on the table.
“I can’t,” I tell him. When both he and Blaise give me questioning looks, I add, “I have to drive back to school and I’m a lightweight so…” I shrug.
“Hadley Harlyton a lightweight?” Blaise tugs on a strand of my hair. “Who would’ve thought?”
“I actually don’t drink a lot,” I admit with a shrug. “I’m not really a big fan of alcohol.”
An understanding look passes between Blaise and I. Then he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Now I feel bad for pressuring you into taking the shot,” he says, his fingers lingering in my hair.
“First off, let’s get one thing straight. No one can pressure me into doing anything. And second,” I angle my head to the side to get his fingers away from my hair, “what is with you and your obsession with touching my hair? Or is just so you can get a good view of my beautiful face.” I smirk, but inside all the hair touching has got me frazzled. Well, not the hair touching per se, but the way a light, tickling shiver kisses across my skin just from the hair touching.
“Wait. He called your face beautiful?” Rhyland asks through a laugh.
“No,” Blaise insists at the same time I say, “
Yes.”
Rhyland’s gaze shifts between the two of us. “Okay, one of you is lying, but I can’t figure out which.”
“Hadley, can I talk to you for a moment?” Blaise hisses, lightly tugging on my sleeve.
A smirk rises on Rhyland’s lips. “What’re you trying to run away from, Blaise?”
“I’m not running away. I just need to talk to Hadley without your big mouth around.” Blaise pushes away from the table, rises to his feet, and looks down at me expectantly.
Sighing, I stand up and follow him as he crosses the room and slips out into the bar. I expect him to stop in there, but he continues down the hallway and pushes through the back door, stepping outside and holding the door open for me.
Once I’m outside, he lets the door go and slides his hand into the front pockets of his jeans. He doesn’t say anything, simply squinting against the sunlight as he studies me.
“So, what do you need to talk to me about?” I finally ask, propping my boot up onto the brick wall behind me and slanting back. “I’m guessing it’s pretty top secret if we had to come all the way outside.”