Page 15 of The Thought of You

“Strong feelings of hate, maybe, and don’t you dare give me shit about some mythical line between love and hate.”

“Not love. Just lust.” The evil grin she wears stretches all too proudly from cheek to cheek, and I vehemently shake my head. “Come on. You complain about the guy more often than you use your car.”

“Because he’s the bane of my existence,” I remind her, although I shouldn’t have to. That much should be as clear as freaking day. “My life was great before the Devil spit him back into town.”

She tongues her cheek.

“I’m serious,” I assert.

“Fine, but you have to admit he’s good-looking. It’s an objective fact.”

“He’s cuter than Leon, and that’s as far as I’ll go.”

She dips her head and laughs. “Okay, you don’t have to admit it, but he’s changed since high school. I’m telling you this as your friend and nothing more. I think you’ll be happy to see I’m right. If you would just give him a chance, then maybe your blood pressure won’t be so high. It’s not healthy.”

“My mother claims I should eat fewer Skittles to fix my health problem.”

“She’s not wrong.”

“It’s my one guilty pleasure. Let me have this.” I put an end to the discussion by popping a few pieces of my beloved candy into my mouth.

Just like I will never abandon my obsession with Skittles, I refuse to let even one of my best friends sweet-talk me into changing my mind about Owen. I’m not biting on that thread unless it’s to chew his stupid head off.

chapter

four

ADDIE

“Reporting for duty.” Austin stands on the inside of the old bread factory and stuffs one hand into his pocket. In the other, he holds up a bag of Skittles. “And here’s this.”

“You magnificent flannel-loving cactus,” I say, but my voice isn’t as enthusiastic as I’d like it to be.

The guy might be prickly and frustratingly curt, but he’s definitely a kind and generous friend. It’s why he answered my SOS and rushed over here.

He deserves a proper thanks, but my boiling blood is too close to the surface.

“You still promise to let the band practice at your house while Hunter’s garage is getting painted, right?” Austin arches a brow.

Oh, right.

Our conversation all comes rushing back to me.

That’s how I’d planned to thank him for giving up his evening to help me. His band plays at the Tap every Sunday night, and they practice on Wednesdays, which works well for me because that’s when I volunteer at the dance studio.

“Sure. Whatever you need,” I say, completely distracted, but I’d bet not even broody Austin can blame me.

The homecoming parade is tomorrow, and the freshmen have yet to finish their float. While the other classes successfully stuck to their schedules I arranged, the freshmen took my hard work and chucked it out the window like littering jerks with their empty cans or fast-food wrappers.

We have zero room to mess around tonight, which is why I brought in reinforcements. Austin’s already here, and Maren, Caroline, and Owen should arrive soon too.

Together, we can finish this in our allotted time slot.

I retrieve a plastic tablecloth from my tote bag of wondrous things and drape it over the rusty table before I let him throw my precious Skittles onto it.

Maren pops in, two lavender boxes in her hands, and my stomach growls at the sight. It’s not subtle, either. It sounds more like a croaking bullfrog in summer.

“Easy,” Maren teases. “I brought cookies for everyone. You have to share.”

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