The hour flies by. I hear the front door slam and eye the clock. Shit. Where did the time go? Feet shuffle up the stairs and there’s banging on my door. “Get your fine ass out here. We’ve got company,” Guy yells.
“Your lame ass friends don’t count as company,” I say as I jerk my door open. Then I realize he isn’t talking about our band. There’s a kid beside him and behind the kid is the dude from school that stopped me from murdering Christian Dipshit Dunkin. I definitely remember those green eyes and that black hair that falls across his forehead. It’s flipped up at the ends, looking windblown and adorable. I hadn’t realized how tall he was. I have to lift my chin to look up at him. He towers over Guy, who is pretty damn tall himself. Wow. This dude is kind of beautiful.
Guy smirks at my awkward faux pas. “These are my friends,” he says pointing to the kid. “Kellin.” He thrust his thumb over his shoulder. “And Mason Patel.”
“It’s you,” I say.
One brow quirks up in this extremely attractive way and Mason smiles. “I get that a lot.” With just one look he has me squirming, but it’s the way his eyes hold me. Like he’s soaking me up nice and slow, and enjoying every single second of it.
My hair is in a sloppy bun on the top of my head and I’m wearing an old Quiet Riot tee shirt, left behind by one of my mom’s “boyfriends.” I tug the hem trying to cover my thighs.
Mason’s eyes rake over me and he grins. “Do you feel the noise?” he asks. I immediately laugh at his joke, but Guy and Kellin both get this strained, confused look.
“Hold on. I’ll be out in a minute,” I say as I slam my door. I slip on some jean shorts and shuffle through my drawer for a better fitting shirt, settling on my little white Italian Stallion tee. The shirt is so old and worn it may as well be made of wheat, and I got it when I was thirteen, so it’s a little snug, but I love it. Gotta represent.
“You’re related to her?” I hear Mason say through the door. Then he laughs loudly. He has a great laugh. “Your name is Guy Love?” He barks out a laugh, louder this time. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
I start laughing too as I slide the shirt over my head. I like the easy way he teases Guy about his sexuality. He isn’t afraid to broach the subject. I mentally give him ten cool points and then I realize he knows my name. I am not one of those girls, the kind that get all flirty and giggly over every cute boy that walks by. But my stomach instantly fills with butterflies on speed and I feel giddy and nervous at the same time.
“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Guy says. “We foster her. My last name’s Handlin, dick wad.”
“Like that’s better.” Mason is still laughing when I open my door. All three boys look at me and I remember my hair. I pull the band from it, letting it spill across my shoulders. Mason’s lips part in this way that causes my heart to flutter. “Uh… What are we doing?”
Guy looks at his bare wrist. “We have a couple hours before Dad and Jenny get home. You wanna bounce?”
I glance at Kellin. “You cool, little man?”
He straightens his stance and nods. “I’m cool.”
I give him the test I give everybody. I stare at him for several seconds, then say, “What’s your favorite band?”
“Green Day,” he says without hesitation.
“Do you play an instrument?”
“My brother’s teaching me to play guitar,” he offers.
I feel Mason’s eyes on me, but I don’t look away from Kellin. “You any good?”
He shrugs and his cheeks turn pink. “Not like Mason.”
“Not yet,” Mason adds and ruffles the kid’s hair. Kellin tries to fight a smile, but fails, and now I’m smiling.
“Okay, you’re cool.” Guy twirls his finger, telling me to hurry up, and then crosses his arms over his chest. I finally turn my attention to Mason and repeat my interrogation. “What’s your favorite band?”
He smirks at me, his eyes full of amusement. “Is this a test?”
“Yes.”
His smile spreads wider and I notice a dimple in his right cheek. “I don’t have one favorite band.”
His answer catches me off guard. Nobody ever says that. Guy laughs and slaps Mason’s shoulder. “Great. We can go now.”
“Did I pass?” Mason asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Guy says. He looks at me and wiggles his eyebrows. “You definitely passed.”
I turn and proceed down the stairs so they can’t see the ridiculous flush heating my pale skin. Cheese and rice. I think I just found my kindred spirit. Or my male alter ego. The Jekyll to my Hyde.
Outside, I head straight for Neko, my car, named after Neko Case, a red haired Indie singer. It’s a cherry red 1967 Chevy Bel Air. The car is the only possession my mom left behind that’s worth anything. Of course, at the time it was a heap of junk, but Alec and Guy helped me restore her to her former glory. I used my bare hands to put her back together and make her beautiful. I love her.
Dylan runs out of the house and eyes Mason and Kellin suspiciously before stopping in front of me. “Where you going?”
“Store,” I say at the same time Guy says, “Library.” I make a face at him and sigh.
“You’re not supposed to go anywhere. Jenny said you’re grounded for getting superended.”
I snort. “Damn, Hope,” Guy sings. “You got superended? I think we need to drop the p in your name ‘cause you is a hoe.”
“I got suspended, Pickles. I’m just running to the library,” I mentally roll my eyes, “and then to the store to pick up candy.” I bend toward him. “If you promise not to tell, I’ll bring you back a Reese’s.”
Dylan puckers his lips while he thinks it over. “And a Snickers. King size.”
I shake his hand. “You drive a hard bargain.”
“And,” he adds as I open my door. I turn around and glare at him. “You can’t call me Pickles anymore.”
Damn. The kid is good. I feel strangely close to him all of a sudden. “All right. Deal. Now get back inside with Misty.” I watch him run to the door before I slide into my seat. Guy climbs in the back with Kellin and I can’t decide if he’s up to something or just being polite to the new dude. I look at him in the rearview mirror. “We need another name for that little shit,” I announce.
Mason plops down beside me and openly admires his surroundings. “This is a nice ass car.” I watch as he glides his palms across the seat slowly and I shiver. This dude is freaking hot and the way he touches my car is just…oh my Buddha…freaking sexy.
I force myself to stop staring at his hands and look up to see him watching me. The dimple’s out again as he smiles down at me. I clear my throat and crank the engine. “Thanks.”
“What about Relish?” Guy yells over the music and rumbling engine. I turn down the volume on the radio and plug my iPod into the speaker.
“Wait, what about relish?”
Guy rolls his eyes. “For Dylan. Dill Relish.”
I scrunch my nose. “It’s not as good as Pickles. Keep thinking.” I toss my iPod over the seat to Guy. “Find some tunes.”
Mason turns to me and I notice he doesn’t have his seat belt on. It probably stems from the fact that my mom and would-have-been stepdad died in a car accident, but I have a rule. It’s really quite simple: “You don’t buckle up then get the fuck out.”
Nothing seems to rattle this dude. He somehow manages to look happy that I just cussed at him as he reaches over and pulls the belt across his chest. “So, where are we going?” he asks.
“Hope has a terrible addiction,” Guy explains. “We have to stop by The Dealer’s so she can get her fix.”
I see Mason look back at his brother from the corner of my eye and I laugh. “It’s cool,” I say. “I’m not taking you and your brother to a crack house or anything.” I chance a glance in his direction. He’s staring at me, waiting patiently for my explanation. “I have a candy problem,” I admit. “It started off small. One, maybe two pieces a week. The next thing I know, I’m waking up on top of candy wrappers wondering where all my money went to.”
Mason laughs. I even get a chuckle from Kellin in the back. Guy grunts. “You think she’s joking, but that’s a true story. The girl has serious issues. If she doesn’t get her sugar rush, things get ugly.”
“Things get ugly even when I’ve had my candy,” I mutter.
With a defeated sigh, Guy throws my iPod onto the front seat between me and Mason. “That’s bullshit, Hope. You don’t have any Maybe It’s a Catastrophe on there.”
“What’s Maybe It’s a Catastrophe?” Mason asks as he scrolls through my music. “I’ve never heard of them.”
Guy huffs. “Yes you have. That’s our band. We told you all about it at lunch.”
“You didn’t tell me the name. It’s kinda cool.”
Guy sits forward, his hands resting on each side of Mason’s head. “Hope named us. She also writes all our lyrics and plays drums.”
Mason is staring at me again. I can feel it. Like his eyes are burning my skin, scorching me with their intensity. Guy’s phone goes off, playing the Star Wars theme song and I know it’s somebody from the band.
“Yel-low?”
I keep trying to catch Guy’s eye in the rearview mirror, but he’s staring down at his knees, playing with a loose thread hanging from the unintentional hole there.
“We’re almost to The Dealer. Meet us there. Later.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Chase and Park are meeting us at the store,” Guy says. “Park’s pissed.”
I ignore that. “So, Kellin,” I say changing the subject. “I have, like, every Green Day album on that nifty little device in your brother’s hand. Maybe you could talk him into putting one of them on while he inspects my collection.”
“Do it, Mace. Put on Dookie,” Kellin tells him. I shoot him a smile in the mirror and he grins back. He’s a little cutie. In a couple years, he’s going to be upsetting girls’ tummies just like his big brother.
A Beatles song comes on and when I look over at Mason, he shrugs. “I don’t like to be told what to do.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a rebel.” I’m rewarded with another one of his laughs. It’s one of those big, deep, whole body laughs. Damn it. He’s a happy person. On a normal day, with anybody else, this would annoy the shit out of me. I hate cheerful people. The kind of people that never let anything get to them. I bet he never frowns. How could he? He’s too busy laughing at everything.
I pull into a parking space and don’t wait for the others. I need some high fructose corn syrup and red dye number 40, right now.
Guy takes my hand and intertwines our fingers. “Penny for your thoughts,” he whispers.
I hand him Dylan’s two candy bars and then pick up some Twizzlers. “I can’t decide between Skittles or Nerds.”
Guy releases my hand to snatch up a Hershey bar. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Definitely Skittles,” Mason says.
I pick up a box of Nerds and bat my lashes at him. “I don’t like being told what to do either.”
He grabs the big bag of Skittles and that smile is back. “Why not be a real rebel and get both.” He dangles it in front of me and I pluck it from his fingers. I put both candies back and go with Star Bursts. “Touché.”
I fight my own smile and turn to Guy. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. Like he knows I’m into Mason and it’s about to spill out of his big mouth. “So, how did you two meet?” I ask, grasping for something to distract him.