Page 38 of Until We're More
Both our phones chimed, and I lifted mine. “My family’s on the way. You still up for volleyball?”
“Yep.”
“Cool. Games provide lots of opportunities to be more assertive.” I slid my phone in my pocket and unhooked the dustpan from the broom handle. “You’re going to want to hold back and let other people get the ball, even when it comes right to you, but you get in there and take your best shot. I’ll cover you.”
“Sure. Whatever.” She tried to take the dustpan from me, her eyes skirting mine, but I kept my grip on it, forcing her attention to me.
“Dammit, Chelsea, I can tell when something’s wrong. Is it the flowers? Do you want me to buy some new ones?”
She simply stared at me, and maybe my intimidation lessons were working better than I thought, because my chest tightened and fear flickered. “No, I don’t want replacement flowers. I just want…” She threw up her arms. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Okay.”
We remained toe-to-toe in the middle of the kitchen, the air choked full of something I didn’t understand.
I scratched the back of my neck. “You wanna invite Kevin to play volleyball with us?” Why the hell had I said that?
“I guess I do need to properly thank him.”
The handle of the dustpan groaned under the pressure of my tightening fist, and I was a few seconds away from cracking it and adding the plastic shards to the mess on the floor.
Chelsea dropped down and began picking the flowers from the pile, and I squatted to join her.
“Be careful, there’s a lot of—”
“I’ve got it.” She whipped her hand back a second later, a piece of glass undoubtedly the culprit. Then she glared at me—like it was my fucking fault that I told her to be careful and she hadn’t been. “Don’t say it.”
Confusion and frustration boiled over, and my patience snapped. “Did I do something to piss you off?”
“It’s more what you didn’t do.”
I locked eyes with her. “Explain.”
“I shouldn’t have to.”
“Chels, you never stop talking. You over-explain. So let’s hear it.”
“This time, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.” She abandoned her attempts to save the flowers, chucked the whole mess in the trash, then angrily swept up the remains.
What the actual fuck?The entire reason I hadn’t crossed lines last night was so shit wouldn’t get messed up between us, but right now everything felt messy and complicated and since when could she actually pull off the silent treatment?
Surely she wasn’t mad I hadn’t slept in her tiny bed all night, where every time she or I moved I’d be pushed up against her. Hell, I wanted to push up against her now. Forget words. I’d show her exactly how I felt. Then we could both work out some frustration.
“I have to go change,” she said and stormed down the hall.
I glanced at George, who was idly licking his paw. “Any idea what that was about?”
He stared at me, and not like I expected him to tell me, but the way he turned and took off after Chelsea made it clear we were absolutelynoton the same team. Evidently he was one of those guys who played the alliance angle, then screwed you over and left you holding the bag.
By the time Finn and Brooklyn arrived, irritation coursed heavy in my veins, and thelastthing I wanted was to play volleyball on the crowded beach.
It would be easier to go along than fight it, though, so I grabbed the damn ball, barked a question about sunscreen at Chelsea—which earned me a clenched-jaw glare from her, as well as reproachful looks from my brother and sister. And by the time we reached the beach, I was wishing for a punching bag.
Unfortunately, spiking the stupid neon ball would have to do.
Chapter Seventeen
Chelsea
