Trouble from the Start by Rachel Hawthorne Read Free Book Online Page B

microwave, and started it up. “So was incarceration an option before my dad brought you here?” I asked casually.
    Leaning against the counter, Fletcher crossed his arms over his chest. “What did your dad tell you?”
    I rested my hip against the island so we were facing each other. “He won’t discuss how he ran into you. Just says you needed a place.”
    â€œThat pretty much sums it up.”
    â€œYour dad’s okay with it?”
    â€œWho cares? I’m eighteen.”
    I couldn’t imagine not caring what my dad thought. “You don’t get along with him?”
    â€œLook, Twenty Questions, I’m not playing.”
    The microwave dinged. I pulled out the bag, put theother one in and began the next process. Shaking the finished bag, listening as the last few kernels popped, I didn’t look at him as I said, “Then I’ll play. Ask me anything.”
    I could sense him studying me, and I was already regretting my bold words.
    â€œAre you a novice when it comes to guys?” he asked.
    I peered over at him and smiled. “Did you learn a new vocabulary word last night?”
    He laughed. It was only a short burst of sound, but I liked it. “For the record, I know a lot about guys,” I told him.
    He looked skeptical. “You ever had a boyfriend?”
    â€œWhy the curiosity?” I asked, pouring the popcorn into a bowl.
    â€œJust wondering how much trouble you could have gotten into last night.”
    I gave him what I hoped was a saucy grin. “Nothing I couldn’t have handled.”
    He seemed to come to attention at that. He gave me an appraising once over. “I heard you’d never spent time alone with a guy.”
    I wasn’t sure how anyone would know that or why it would come up in conversation. The microwave dinged again and I grabbed the second bag. “Not really any of your business.”
    â€œSo you haven’t been alone with a guy.”
    â€œI’m alone with a guy right now.”
    â€œNot what I meant.”
    Which I knew, but he was right—playing Twenty Questions was a bad idea. I picked up both bowls. “It’s showtime!”
    We had a huge flat-screen TV in the family room, and I could tell that Fletcher was impressed. It was hard not to be. Mom and Dad were each in their respective recliners. Tyler was curled on Dad’s lap, which left the couch for Fletcher and me to share. If I didn’t know better, I’d think my parents were playing matchmaker. But I did know better because my dad was not going to encourage me to get involved with a guy who sported bruises as often as Fletcher did. I knew my parents weren’t thinking, were just following habit. Usually I stretched out on the couch.
    Fletcher and I sat with a big bowl of popcorn between us. Mom, Dad, and Tyler were close enough to share a bowl. I dragged the afghan my grandmother had made off the back of the couch and draped it over my lap. With a remote, Dad dimmed the lights, then started the movie. Despicable Me . Usually I teared up at the end, but this time I was going to have to stay tough. I could just imagine how Fletcher would ride my case.
    For the longest time, he sat stiffly at the other end of the couch, his arms crossed over his chest, and glared atthe screen, obviously wishing he were somewhere else. Then he started to relax. A scene with the minions made him smile. He dipped his hand into the popcorn bowl where it brushed up against mine.
    He went completely still, while my heart thundered inside my chest so hard that I was afraid Dad—or worse, Fletcher—would hear it. The spark that shot up my arm was silly, ridiculous . . . unsettling. The only reason I didn’t jerk my hand back was because I figured it would give him some sort of satisfaction. Apparently, completely unaffected, he tiptoed his fingers over mine, before scooping up some popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. His gaze never