Page 23 of The Problem with Falling
“You’re from a small town?” Why did I ask that? I didn’t care.
“Yes. Honey Creek, Illinois. Home of the best gossips you’ll ever meet.”
I glanced around toward the group of women looking in Willow’s and my direction. “I bet the people of Westin Lake would give you a run for your money. What made you leave your small town?” Why did I askthat? I didn’t care.
She paused for a moment, seemingly growing somber before she answered. “I outgrew it.”
“Fair enough.” I stood from the table. “Ready to head back to my place?”
Before she could reply, a person called out behind me. “Well, if it isn’t the talk of the town.”
Every hair on my body stood up when I recognized the voice. I turned around to find Peter, my cousin, standing behind me. He looked exactly how he always had—like a fucking asshole. Peter was five years older than me and my only cousin. He had a kid named Jensen, whom I looked after every now and again. Jensen was about fourteen and was the complete opposite of his father. The kid didn’t know it yet, but that would be one of his strongest traits down the line—that he was nothing like the piece of shit who raised him.
Peter moved through life with a heavy level of smugness to him even though he didn’t have the life success to match said uppity personality. He peaked in high school and never really advanced past the asshole jock phase of his life. Being a young dad probably didn’t help his arrested development, either. Peter didn’t have to work for much of anything in life because his parents spoiled the everlasting shit out of him as if he wasn’t a thirty-something-year-old. The only thing he truly had going for him was his good looks and his high school quarterback stories about when they went to state.
Oh, and shagging my ex-girlfriend.
Peter’s eyes moved toward Willow. He eyed her up and down as if she were the fresh meat on the deli line, and that instantly pissed me off. Sure, I had no reason to be overprotective of Willow, but the last thing she needed was a dick like Peter coming on to her. And that was exactly what he’d do—come on to her. Especially since he’d noticed Willow was with me.
I didn’t know where the competition between Peter and me rose from. Truthfully, when we were young, I looked up to the guy. I thought he was the coolest, strongest person in our town. I envied how women—of all types—were enamored with him. When I was at my worst with being bullied for my speech andlooks, all I used to think about was how I wished I could be just like Peter. Cool, calm, and collected. Liked by everyone. Handsome. Strong. When I first started going to the gym, my first and only thought was WWPD. What would Peter do?
It wasn’t until a few years later that my rose-colored glasses were taken off, and I learned that my cousin crafted the nicknames the bullies called me. I never really got over that betrayal. I thought family members were supposed to be better than others, but sometimes it appeared that they were the ones who could hurt you the most.
Willow smiled sweetly toward Peter, and that pissed me off.
Damn.
I was officially pissed off.
His mere existence did that to me.
I hated that Willow was giving him a second of her time, but she didn’t know the snake that lived within that man. She was as clueless and free as she could be.
“The talk of the town?” Willow questioned. “Little ole me?”
Peter snickered and shook his head with a sinister grin. “You sure are a little thing, aren’t you?”
For fuck’s sake.
Please spare her, you fucking sleazeball.
It took everything in my power not to roll my eyes. I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. Peter knew how to get under my skin, so I had to learn how not to showcase when he had.
“We were just leaving,” I replied dryly, nodding in Willow’s direction.
“Without an introduction, cuz?” Peter asked, patting his hand on my shoulder with his wide, pearly smile that his parents paid for. He knew I hated when he touched me. That was why he did it.
“Cuz? Are you two cousins?” Willow asked with a level of intrigue. Her right eyebrow lifted as the sunlight touched her raised cheeks.
Peter beamed with fake pride. “Sure are.”
“Oh. Lovely. I’m Willow,” she said, offering Peter her hand.
That pissed me off, too.
It pissed me off even more when he took her hand and shook it. He held on a little too long, if you asked me.
I needed to get back to my boat.
