Trouble From the Start Read online

  What was he upset about? I was the one whose reputation was in the toilet. “I don’t know. Scooter. Rhys. Some guy named Josh who I’ve never even seen before. Girls are glaring at me. Everyone is whispering.”

  He cursed. “I guess they just assumed . . . my reputation makes people think they know me, that they have some insight into what I would do.”

  Was I guilty of that? Thinking I knew him when really all I knew was his reputation? “I know you’re a jerk for not telling people the truth.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It matters.” I swung around the railing and went up two steps. “You can emphasize to people that nothing happened.”

  “They probably won’t believe me.”

  “Why? You also have a rep for being a liar?”

  “Why do you care so much?”

  “I don’t want people believing something about me that’s not true.”

  “Would it be so bad if people thought you liked me?”

  “But that’s not what they think. They’re convinced I hopped on your bike, then hopped into bed with you. That I have no standards.”

  “Standards? Do you think I’m that far beneath you?”

  “No, stop twisting this around. I’m talking about people—guys especially—thinking that I don’t have enough respect for myself to believe that I deserve better than some guy who is just passing by. It’s about respect. For me. For you, even. For a relationship. I want a guy to ask me out because he wants to get to know me. Because he likes me. Not because he thinks I’m an easy booty call.”

  Fletcher studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s fair, so okay.”

  Hands on my hips, I glowered. “Okay what?”

  “I’ll let it be known that nothing happened.”

  With three days left of school, it might not make a difference. But maybe it would. “Thanks.”

  The word came out hard and I didn’t sound grateful in the least, but I was still upset, and I didn’t quite trust that he couldn’t have nipped this in the bud earlier.

  He shook his head. “I can’t believe you spilled your tea over my head.”

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned my hip against the railing. “I considered locking you in a choke hold.”

  He scoffed. “Yeah, like you could do that.”

  “I know self-defense.” My dad had made sure of it.

  Silence eased in around us. My anger at Fletcher dissipated. Somewhat. “Why would you make a bet like that?”

  “It’s what guys do.”

  “So juvenile.”

  “Easy money.”

  The anger sparked again. “I wasn’t easy.”

  I shoved myself away from the railing, started down—

  Pain shot through my left calf, my leg folded. I grabbed the railing with one hand, my calf with the other. “Shoot!”

  The stairs vibrated as Fletcher flew around me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just a cramp.” Pressing my toes onto the step, I tried to stretch out the muscle. Not enough room. I shoved on Fletcher. “Move.”

  “Sit.”

  “Get outta—”

  His hands came around my bare calf, choking back my words. He lifted my leg, giving me no choice except to drop down onto the step. “Fletcher—”

  “Do you have to argue with me about everything?” he asked as he nimbly untied my sneaker. “You should have taken the time to cool down.”

  “Which is what I was going to do when you stopped me.”

  He tugged off my shoe, dropped it. It bounced before falling between the steps to the ground. He knelt. With just the right amount of pressure, he bent my foot back with one hand while the other gently massaged the knot in my muscle. His hands were large and warm. I almost moaned as the pain began to lessen. He must have felt the knot dissipating because he sat with my leg across his lap and began using both hands to knead the aching muscles. Then I had to bite back a moan of pleasure. It felt so good.

  He took half a second to peel off my sock and toss it at me. I snatched it, stuffed it into a pocket, while his fingers returned to working their magic.

  “It’s okay now,” I felt obligated to admit.

  “Give it another minute. It could cramp back up.”

  I was willing to give it ten minutes, thirty, a hundred. I didn’t usually notice guys’ hands, but something about his was intriguing. Maybe it was the fact that they were caressing my skin with deliberate long strokes interlaced with little squeezes. Every now and then he would return his attention to my foot, bend it, stretch the muscle in my calf.

  “You’re good,” I said.

  “Thought you thought I was a bad boy.”

  “I meant that you’re good at massaging.”

  “Lot of practice.”

  And that pretty much broke the spell he’d been weaving. I didn’t want to think about all the girls he’d practiced on. I pulled my leg free. He seemed at once surprised and irritated. I stood. “It’s fine now.”

  He gave me a half-smile. “Just let me know if you need help working out another cramp.”

  “I think I can manage it.”

  I started down the stairs. He didn’t try to stop me. I slipped under the steps and snagged my shoe. When I straightened, he was standing, watching me, and I was glad that he hadn’t had a good view of my butt from where he was. “Thanks for the help with the cramp.”

  It seemed like I was always thanking him.

  “No problem. Like I said, anytime.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to meet Dad at Smiley’s?”

  “Yeah, I need to head over there, but I wanted to get this straightened out first.”

  “Why? You’ll make a bad impression with Smiley and make my dad mad.”

  “I called to let them know I’d be a little late.”

  I considered putting on my shoe so I wasn’t lopsided, but let it go. “Why did you want to take care of this first?”

  “Because your dad is a cop; he’s observant. He would have known something was wrong between us, and there is no way I would have come out of the story looking good and still been welcome here.”

  “I didn’t think you really wanted to be here.”

  Shrugging, he rubbed his hands on his jeans. “It’s not so bad.”

  “High praise indeed for the Watkins’s hospitality.”

  “I like it when you’re not mad. The girls I’m usually with . . . they don’t care about their reputations. Or they care but they care about being popular or desired or . . . they don’t care about the things you do. You’re different.”

  Before I started to blush, I said, “Everyone’s different. And you should go.”

  “Yep.”

  With an uneven stride, I walked to the gate. I felt his gaze on me the entire way. Now if I could just forget the way it had felt to have his hands on me.

  Chapter 10

  FLETCHER

  I loved the smell of engine oil and grease. I felt right at home when I stepped into Smiley’s garage. Mr. Smiley—or Smiley, as he told me to call him—was an odd-looking guy with big ears and a smile that took up most of his face. He looked really glad to see me and enthusiastically shook my hand when Avery’s dad introduced us.

  With pride, he took us on a tour of the place. Running my hand over some of the tools reminded me of working on cars with my dad—before my mom died, before he lost his job, before everything went to shit.

  “So what do you think?” Smiley asked. “Think you’d like working here?”

  I didn’t have to look at Avery’s dad standing there to know my answer. “Yes, sir. I’d love working here. I could start Friday.”

  He furrowed a brow that was wrinkled with years. “Graduation is Saturday, isn’t it?”

  My gut clenched at the reminder. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s make it Monday then. Enjoy your last few days of high school.”

  I could have told him that was impossible. School and I didn’t get along, but I didn’t see