Page 36 of Come Break My Heart Again

A blond guy tosses a can of beer at Archer.

Hathaway’s still a shitty quarterback. I figured, based on Medina’s request. I didn’t pay any attention to the game earlier, but the somber faces in the parking lot told me Fernwood lost.

He misses the catch by a lot, and I doubt it has much to do with how much he’s had to drink. Pure reflex has me reaching out to snag the can before it can hit the floor and make even more of a mess.

Archer’s lip curls as he turns to me and holds a hand out for the can. “Buy your own beer.” He tilts his head. “Oh, wait. Can you not afford to?”

I toss the can in the air and catch it one-handed. Whenever it gets opened, it’ll probably explode. “Might want to slow down, man.” I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, wait. You can’t catch sober either.”

There are a few muffled laughs around the kitchen. Watson, who threw the beer, lifts a cup to cover his grin.

Archer is popular, but not the way Elle is. Not because people actually like him. He’s popular because he’s supposed to be. Because he’s got the rich family and the right zip code, and that translates to certain privileges.

His eyes narrow. “Who invited you, Two?”

“It’s aparty, Archer. Lighten up.” A girl I don’t recognize steps forward, rolling her eyes. She’s pretty. Long light-brown hair. Perky tits that Archer blatantly checks out.Pig.

I’m looking, too, but only one of us has a girlfriend.

“Let me show you around, Ryder.”

She grabs my hand and pulls me toward the doorway. I let her, mostly out of surprise, glancing back at Tuck.

He grins at me, lifting his beer, then mouths,Go for it.

I’m not really in the mood for this shit, but I suppose it’s a smarter plan than getting into it with Hathaway.

Rather than enter the crowded living room like I’m expecting, the girl steers us into a bookshelf-lined office. It reminds me of a library, all dark, old-looking wood and brass fixtures.

She closes the door behind us, muffling the blaring music. Drops my hand and then sashays over toward the fireplace, picking up a crystal glass and nearly filling it with amber liquid. “Want some? Way better than warm beer.”

“No thanks.”

“That’s refreshing.” She smirks, then sips, appraising me carefully over the rim of the glass. “Do you know how to build a fire?”

“It’s August.”

“Just for ambiance. The AC is on.”

I shake my head and make for one of the leather armchairs, still not sure if being in here is a good idea or not. I won’t be able to talk Phoenix into leaving before Cruz is ready, but I could probably convince Tuck to drive me home soon.

“Everyone’s wondering if you’re going to join the team. That’s why Archer was so peeved.”

Hathaway hated me long before he found out I had a decent arm, so I don’t think that’s the real—or only—reason.

But I just shrug. “I’m not playing.”

“Why not? I hear you’re good. And it would be nice to cheer for the winning team for once. Even Elle gets sick of being supportive, and she’s practically a saint.”

At that, I snort. Elle’s a good person, one of the best I’ve ever met. But she’s no saint.

The girl—I should’ve asked for her name, probably—raises both eyebrows. “You don’t like Elle?”

She’s masking her interest pretty well, but I can sense it bubbling beneath the surface. Elle is the last topic I feel like discussing.

“I don’t know her.” It’s not a lie exactly, but it tastes a lot like one. “But I don’t like any Ones really. No offense.”

She sips more straight alcohol. “I don’t buy into that wholewe’re better than them because we have more moneything, you know.”

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