Page 31 of Heartbreaker
Friends. He wants to be just friends. Of course, he does. What else would he want to be? Why did I think he was going to say something else?
“And as your friend, I want you to be careful. You want to go on a date with this guy? Fine. But don’t pretend like you don’t know what he wants. He made that obvious by the way he couldn’t stop eye-fucking you earlier.”
I won’t deny I felt a little uncomfortable under Jaxon’s intense stare, but I know him. I’ve known him since we were kids. Jaxon is a shameless flirt, and he has no problem making it well known when he wants someone. He’s a sweet talker, and he has a way of getting you to do what he wants, even if you don’t want to. A way of convincing you it’s what you wanted all along. But he’s harmless.
We dated in high school because that was what cheerleaders and football players were supposed to do. The squad pressured me to say yes when he asked me on a date the second week of school, and that ignited a terrible cycle of ups and downs until senior year, when I decided I didn’t want to do it anymore. Will Jax try to convince me we should give it another go? I don’t know, maybe. He tried it once before, when I came home from Thornebrooke my sophomore year, but Crew put a stop to it before he could get the words out. And this time, I know better. I’ve broken the cycle twice before, and I have no intentions of going backwards. This is exactly what I said: two acquaintances catching up over a cup of coffee.
“It’s just coffee, Brooks.”
“Don’t call me that.”
A soft laugh. “Don’t call you by your name?”
“I am notBrooksto you.” His face pulls into a tight line. “Not you.” Those words tell me everything I need to know—confirm what I already know. He wasn’t going to sayfriendsearlier, but he did because that’s what I need right now. I reach out to smooth the lines of his cheeks with a small smile and nod.
“It’s just coffee, John.”
“Yeah, better be careful. You might hurt yourself lifting those hay bales,” Crew says, mocking Papá’s warning from moments ago. “Make sure you lift with your knees.”
“Shut up, Crew. At least I know how to use my knees.” A deep sense of dread fills me the moment I say it, and a grin spreads across my brother’s cheeks. Shit.
“And whathaveyou been using your knees for, SJ?”
Papá rolls his eyes and keeps walking when I jump on Crew’s back, snaking my right arm around my brother’s neck. I clasp onto my other bicep to put him in a classic sleeper. Crew reaches out for help, his breath coming out in desperate gasps, even though I put no real pressure against the column of his throat.
“Tap!” I demand, but he shakes his head, calling out to our father instead.
“If I was you, I’d do as she says,” Papá says without looking. He continues further down the main hall of the barn toward the stalls he and Crew are supposed to be cleaning. We’re behind on chores this morning, mostly because Crew and I have spent a good majority of the time putzing around and picking on each other. I’m surprised Papá hasn’t told us to knock it off, but I think he’s missed it too much to care. He raises his hand, waving down at the end of the barn. “Oh, Brooks! Good morning.”
At the name, my grip loosens, and Crew takes my temporary moment of distraction to break the hold. He grasps my left ankle, undoing the knot I tied with my feet on his abdomen, before reaching around to my sides to tickle me. A squeal bursts from me at the sensation, and I immediately drop my hold, jumping away from him. My brother laughs as I stumble upon landing, crashing into a nearby large wooden storage crate.
The sudden commotion catches the attention of both our father and John, who stand at the far end of the barn. Papá rolls his eyes, saying something under his breath before his voice carries down the hall, “Crew, you guys get out to the coop yet?”
“Sorry, Pa, what?” Crew asks, still chuckling to himself.
“You get out to the coop?”
“Haven’t done it yet.Someonehas been distracting me all morning.”
I raise a contemptuous brow at my brother. “I have not! I’ve been helping.”
“Sure, if you call getting in the way help. You ran off to Hollywood and forgot how to do chores.”
Before I can respond, our father breaks us apart. “Savannah, you and Brooks go get some eggs for your Ma, huh?”
“But, Pa, I’m going to—”
“You were going to get those eggs.”
I blow out the rest of my argument with a huff, earning a chuckle from my brother. I shoot a glare over my shoulder before doing as I’m told, walking between my dad and John, who gives me an apologetic glance and follows me outside.
The chicken coop isn’t far from the barn, but right now it feels like one hundred yards. The only sound is the crunch of our steps against the crisp morning grass that has yet to be thawed by the sun. After a moment, John says, “You were up early.”
“So were you.” I open the coop and reach in to grab the wire basket hanging on the wall, handing it to him. “I saw you go out for a run this morning.”
He shrugs. “Figured the fresh air might do me good.”
“Something else on your mind?” I ask, and glance over my shoulder when he doesn’t answer. The muscles in his throat contract, swallowing down whatever he might have thought to say, and he shakes his head. “Well, you’d better get some rest while you’re here. Mamá will never let me hear the end of it.”
