Page 9 of Stealing Sunshine

My least favourite genre of music is playing, the country twang I hear on the daily whenever Brody speaks drifting from the speakers. It’s empty besides the table of my friends past the double-sided bar.

I get a glare from the bartender, a.k.a. the mother of my ex-girlfriend, as I pass, my boots squeaking on the floor. I’d feel guilty for the mess I’m leaving if she and her daughter weren’t on my shit list.

The bathroom sign is right ahead of me now. A beat later, I duck inside the ladies’ room before anyone notices me and grimace at my appearance in the mirror.

I move quickly, wringing my hair out in the sink and dabbing paper towels beneath my eyes to clear away the smudged mascara. With my fingers, I comb through my wet hair and huff when it starts to frizz immediately after beginning to dry. Leaning over the counter, I rub my thumb on my temple where a streak of eyeliner has appeared before staring at my chest, grateful I wore a black shirt instead of white.

There’s a flush, and then one of the stall doors rattles before opening. A small gasp has me looking behind me in the mirror.

“Bryce?”

My throat clogs at the voice before tightening to the point of pain when I meet Daisy Mitchell’s eyes in our reflections. Static fills my ears as I narrow my stare.

Her hair is a deep, glossy red colour, and her piercing blue eyes are so intense they could shift planets with a single stare. Tall and slim, with a narrow, sharp jaw and a set of plump lips that I’ve seen blow bubbles in gum a hundred times, she’s drop-dead gorgeous.

Her legs are miles fucking long and exposed in a pair of white cutoff shorts that I know must expose the underside of her ass cheeks with every step she takes. I tongue my cheek when Iread the saying on the front of her waist-gripping shirt.Too good for you.

I almost laugh.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her voice sugar sweet and pure.

I swallow, glaring at the sink but watching her in my peripheral. “Fine. Just leaving.”

She walks to the second sink beside me and turns on the tap. The way she shifts is awkward, janky. I made her feel that way.

“Were you caught in the rain?”

“Yep.”

“Did my brother ask you to come tonight too?”

“Obviously.”

She squirts soap into her palms and starts to lather it. The tap continues to run, and I snap a hand out to shut it off on habit. Silence hangs between us before she speaks again.

“I have a feeling that I know what this meeting is about?—”

“I’m done in here,” I rasp, snapping my eyes upward to look at her in the mirror one last time.

“Oh. Okay.” Her expression closes down as she digs her teeth into her lip.

I keep my jaw shut to avoid saying something stupid and leave before I rip it open and speak anyway.

Daisy Mitchell has that effect on me. From the moment we met, I’ve had an annoying fucking impulse to blabber about anything and everything without a single reason as to why.

It doesn’t matter.

I’m not in the mood to dig into that right now. She’s right, anyway.

Too fucking good for me.

4

DAISY

People around towncall Bryce the ice queen. Even her best friends have given her Ice as a pet name. They’re not far off.

Her scowl is sharp enough to cut, and her words are cold, well-aimed bullets that never miss their target. Yet, I don’t seem to care much about either of those things.

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