She allows Tyler to pull her away, his arm slung around the back of her neck. She’s semi-mortified and semi-irritated. It’ll probably take several hours before the rose tint fades from her cheeks.
I stare at Rachael in the new silence that appears once they leave, arching a brow in curiosity. “Girlfriend,” she tells me. “They’ve been dating since freshman year. You’re probably scarred for life.”
I shake my head and breathe for the first time in ten minutes. “He’s such an asshole.”
“He’s Tyler Bruce,” Rachael says. “He’s always an asshole.”
Chapter 5
In all honesty, my afternoon at the promenade with Rachael and Meghan wasn’t that bad. They didn’t spend too long in the same store, they didn’t blow their entire allowances on shoes, and surprisingly they both love coffee, which I discovered when we stopped at a small, minimalist coffee shop just around the corner on Santa Monica Boulevard. It was called the Refinery, and it served the best latte I’ve had in a long time.
“Are you sure you’re not coming?” Dad asks for the eighth time now as he pops his head around my door.
I’m in the process of painting my toes a bright sapphire, but I pause to glance over my shoulder to the irritating human being behind me. “I’m sure,” I say. “I still don’t feel too great.” I return to my nails and keep my face down. I’m an awful liar, and back when I was younger, Dad used to know whenever I was lying just by looking at me. Hopefully it’s not that noticeable anymore.
“There’s food in the refrigerator if you get hungry.”
“Okay,” I say, and he leaves the room.
Perhaps avoiding a family meal is an unsociable thing to do, but just the thought of spending Saturday evening with my reconstituted family is enough to give me a migraine. In the two hours that I’ve been home from the promenade, Dad has done nothing but pester me about attending this horrendous event. I am consistently rejecting the offer.
Finishing off my nails and tidying up after myself, I prance around my room on the balls of my feet and then head out onto the landing when Ella calls up the staircase that they’re about to leave. I’ve barely begun to descend the stairs when Tyler emerges from his room.
His eyes narrow the second he sees me, and for a long moment, he just glares at me. Me and my sweatpants. “Aren’t you going?”
“Aren’t you?” I shoot back. He’s wearing a navy hoodie with the hood pulled up. There’s an earphone dangling from one ear.
“Grounded.” He snorts and rubs his temple. “What’s your excuse?”
“Sick,” I lie. I turn around and make my way downstairs to the hall, but I feel him close behind me. “And that’s weird: being grounded didn’t stop you from going to American Apparel,” I throw over my shoulder in a hushed voice.
“Shut the hell up,” he hisses.
When we reach the hall, Dad is waiting by the front door with Ella by his side. Jamie and Chase look bored as hell. Being younger, it must be harder for them to get out of these sorts of atrocious social events.
“We won’t be too late,” Ella says. She fixes Tyler with a firm look. It’s almost as though she’s worried to leave him alone. She should be. “Don’t even think about leaving.”
“Mom, I wouldn’t dare,” he says, but the sarcasm is dripping from his voice. He leans against the wall and folds his arms across his chest.
“Can we go now?” Chase asks. I’m thankful I don’t have to go through what he’s about to. “I’m hungry.”
“Yes, yes, let’s go,” Dad says. He opens up the door, tells Chase and Jamie to go to the car, and throws me a sympathetic glance. “I hope you feel better, Eden.”
I just smile. “Bye.”
“Behave yourselves,” Ella warns. She still looks apprehensive, but they all leave nonetheless.
When they shut the door behind them and the house falls into an odd silence, it occurs to me then that I’m left alone with the moron next to me. For the entire evening. I turn to face him. His eyes are already on me. “Um,” I say.
“Um,” he mimics in a voice that sounds absolutely nothing like mine.
“Um,” I say again.
“I’m gonna grab a shower,” he tells me. “That’s if you’d get out of my way.”
I step to the side of the staircase, and he barges past me, the same way he shoved past yesterday, like I’m merely an obstacle in his path. “Rude,” I mutter under my breath. In the forty-eight hours I’ve been here, he hasn’t said one nice word to me. He doesn’t appear to have any manners either. I’m thankful I won’t have to talk to him for at least five minutes.