Page 28 of I'm Gonna Get You Back
“‘The Golden Boy,’” he mocks, quoting what our local paper once called me. “What a joke.” He pushes past me, clipping my shoulder.
I lean back against the wall as he starts walking, thinking he bested me.
“The real joke is that I was already better at fifteen than you’ll ever be.”
He stops.
“Not to mention your dad picked me as the guest of honor over his own son.” I cock my head to the side and grin. “Hilarious.”
His face goes red as he lunges toward me. I push off from the wall with one foot in response, but before I can get close enough to swing at him, Mitchell appears out of nowhere and shoves me back with a meaty slap to my chest. Mitch may be younger, but he’s taller than both me and Josh and looks every inch the multi-hyphenate athlete he is.
“You got a problem?” Mitch asks, swiveling his attention on Josh.
“Several,” I mutter.
A sheen of sweat coats Josh’s forehead and upper lip. His eyes dart between us.
“Watch your back, Rousseau,” he says.
I give him a mock salute. “Easy enough since you’re always behind me.”
Mitchell’s shoulders release once Josh steps outside, and he rounds on me. “Do youwantto get your ass kicked?”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not what would’ve happened.”
Mitchell crosses his arms, unconvinced. “Since when do you go looking for fights?”
“Since when did you start sounding like your mom?”
He narrows his eyes. “Low.”
Another karaoke song starts, and I wince. I’ve always struggled with clashing noise, and with the pop song in one room, and Amaya belting a Broadway ballad in another, every nerve in my body starts to fray.
Mitchell notices and shoves me into the hallway where it’s quieter. “Seriously, Reid. It’s not like you to let someone like Josh get under your skin.”
I clench my jaw. I don’t like that he’s right. But I can’t explain it, either.
“People change” is all I say.
Without waiting for a response, I finally escape by bounding up the stairs and heading to the deck where I used to sneak away whenever parties got too overwhelming.
As soon as I slide the door open and step out into the clear night, my heart stops.
Clara is standing there.
CHAPTER EIGHTCLARANOW
I LOWER THE CAMERAand turn, somehow knowing who will be standing there a second before our eyes lock.
Reid.
Reid ishere. Home. A day early. Wearing a gray shirt and dark jeans and an expression that’s just as stunned as I feel. I’m pretty sure “Holy shit” tumbles out of my mouth, but I might just think it.
“Yeah,” he responds, a little breathless.
Okay, I definitely said it.
His gaze slowly traces my face, my body, like his fingertips used to. I’m wearing a short maroon skirt and black tee. A sliver of my stomach shows, and I tug on the hem of the shirt a bit to make sure my tattoo is covered.
