Page 52 of Tell Me Something True

“Love you,” he responded as she opened the door.

At least, that’s what she thought he said. It was hard to tell, what with the extremely loud whooshing sound in her head.

“Reed,” she said, refusing to stoop to his rude, scowly level by not being as polite and pleasant as possible, even if she was shocked to see him there. “Good morning.”

He glowered at her, his blue eyes narrowed, as if she was the one ruining his day.

He’d cut his hair. Well, not completely. The top was still long and knotted in a bun at the crown of his head, but the sides and back had been buzzed close to his scalp, the short strands a darker blond than the top.

She had the strangest, strongest urge to reach out and trail her fingertips over those short strands to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Ugh. What was it about this boy that turned her into such a ninny?

She curled her fingers into her palm. “Are you lost?”It was the same thing he’d asked her at the beginning of the summer when she’d shown up at his door unannounced looking for help getting her car out of a ditch.

If he remembered, he didn’t let on.

He also didn’t answer her.

“Okay, you know what? This whole glaring at me in silence thing has gotten old. So I’m just gonna go on and shut the door and move on with my life. Bye, bye, now.”

But when she started to shut the door, he pressed his hand against it, stopping her.

She gaped at him. “You did not just do that.”

“You don’t live here.”

“What?”

“You don’t live here,” he bit out, jaw tight, mouth barely moving. Irritated, it seemed, with having to repeat himself. Annoyed with life in general, and her specifically.

Whatever. He’s the one who knocked on the door.

“No. I don’t live here.”

She wasn’t surprised he knew that. It was a small town and they had known each other since kindergarten—even if they’d never really spoken to each other until this summer.

When she’d gotten her car stuck in the ditch, she’d known very well it was his trailer she was approaching for help.

Hand still on the door, Reed glanced behind her into the house. “Where’s the blonde?”

“Who?”

“The blonde chick who lives here. This was the address she gave me.”

“So sorry to disappoint you,” she said, her snarky tone a clear indication that was far from the truth, “but whoever you swiped right on lied about their address. Your hookup isn’t here.”

“What’s a hookup?”

She whirled around to find Ian staring up at her, still bare-chested and hair uncombed, but at least he’d put on a pair of gray shorts. “How long have you been standing there?”

He shrugged. Scratched the side of his nose. “What’s a hookup?”

Reed snorted, and she whirled back to him. Found him smirking as if he was sooo going to enjoy seeing her hem and haw, stammer and stutter like some old, uptight auntie.

“Sorry, bud,” she told Ian. “But that’s one of those ask your mom questions.”

Verity and her brothers always deferred the tricky questions to Kat. It was a sign of respect. It showed that they recognized her complete authority as Ian’s mom.

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