Page 14 of Stealing Sunshine

I reach for my last shot of the night and tip it back.

“I don’t think she’ll care about that.”

I grunt in response, the effects of the vodka starting to make the world a bit smoother. Or softer? Rougher? Fuck knows.

“Okay.”

“Is there a reason why you don’t want her to stay with you, besides the fact I was the one who suggested it?”

“Don’t give a shit that you suggested it, Pops.”

She leans against me when I face forward, her cheek on my shoulder. “So what, then? Worried she’ll add a couple too many throw pillows to the couch? Or that she’ll host wild parties while you’re gone and offer free tats to randoms? Come on, Ice. She’s Johnny’s twin and one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met. I don’t think you’ll have to worry about much.”

“Don’t know what you want me to say. It’s already done. She’s staying whether I want her to or not,” I say, my voice sounding a bit garbled.

“You don’t want her to, then?”

“Stop analyzing me,” I snap, stumbling off the stool to stand. “It’s done. Over with.”

She reaches out to steady me. I slap her hand away and step back.

“Just let me breathe,” I plead.

Her confusion is obvious. I’m confused too. I just don’t want to talk about this. Not with her, not with anyone. My problems with Daisy Mitchell are mine alone. I’ll deal with them sooner or later.

“Alright, Ice. Can I at least get you a ride home?”

“No. I’m good on my own.” It’s probably still pissing rain outside, but fuck it. “Text you when I get home.”

“If you’re sure . . .” She trails off, glancing behind her at the sliver of the table we can see.

I leave her there while she’s not paying attention. Slipping outside is easy. I’m not drunk enough to be tripping over myself yet, but I brace myself on the railing as I move down the steps.

“Bryce! Wait up for a second!”

My mouth grows dry. I freeze on the sidewalk, rain pelting my hair and face, soaking my clothes. The street is empty, quiet, and wet with rain puddles.

“Oh crap. Do you have an umbrella? Are you walking home?”

Daisy’s a rambler. I’ve picked that up over the past three, almost four years. Doesn’t seem to matter who she’s speaking to, if she wants to talk a mile a minute, she will.

“Let me drive you home.”

“No, thanks” are my first words to her.

“At least take my jacket. It’s in my car.”

“Why did you come out here?”

I recognize the sound of her yellow high-top Converse clapping against the wooden stairs. The ones with the daisies painted on them in white and stars in black.

“I realized that I don’t have your number. Or know where the house is. I don’t need to see it before I move in, but I do need to know when I can actually do that.”

Goosebumps cover my bare arms as cool rain freezes my cheeks. I shiver. “Poppy can give you my number. And move in whenever you want.”

“Maybe we could meet up for breakfast and talk details another day?”

It’s a really fucking sincere offer. I’d have to be a heartless bitch to turn it down.

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