How cruel was fate, to do that to me? Why couldn't I have been born looking different, maybe with a constant sense of not belonging? Then it might not have been such a shock. The thing is, I’ve always felt loved and wanted with the Banks, always like an integral part of the family. Even now, nothing has changed except for my geographical location.
I stare down at the lid on my coffee, tracing the word biodegradable on the top.
“Please tell me you still hate it here?” Maxine asks, and X gives her a sharp look. “What?” She glances back at him, one brow raised. “I know I'm being selfish, but Dakota is my little sister. I'm not surrendering her to some guy who makes rude as fuck TikToks.”
X cringes slightly, his jaw tightening as he glances off to one side. I can smell him from where I'm sitting, and I don't mean that in a bad way. He smells like freshly mowed grass and some sort of sporty aftershave that reminds me of citrusy drinks sipped beside a cool blue pool in summer. Ugh.
And … wow. Wow. Why the fuck do I keep smelling guys? Who does that?! I almost facepalm right then and there, but that would require admitting that I’m a pervert who sniffs people and who gets zings and shocks and tingles when they touch attractive peers. Seriously. First, Parrish. Then Chasm. Now this Maxx guy? Blergh.
“Yeah,” X starts, almost like he's hesitant to say anything at all. “Parrish can be a total dick sometimes.”
My brows go up in surprise as I lean forward, interest piqued.
“Wait, you know Parrish?” I ask, because there’s just no way. That's too big of a coincidence.
Maxx of the double Xs offers me up an apologetic smile, as if he has some reason to feel responsible for the actions of a stranger. With a small sigh, he stirs his drink, watching the bubbles catch on the straw before lifting his green eyes up to mine.
Another zing shoots through me that I vehemently ignore.
“We went to school together for most of our lives,” he says, softening the revelation with another award-winning smile. I do my best to shield myself against his natural charisma, lifting my coffee to my lips to distract myself. Maxine, at least, doesn't seem to notice anything amiss. Good. Because I'd sooner throw myself off a cliff into the sea before hitting on my sister’s boyfriend. You have to earn her trust but once you have it, it’s implicit. “Me and Parrish and Chasm.”
“Chasm,” I repeat, frowning as I think about our strange interaction this morning. Chalk it up to natural curiosity, he said. I don't buy that for a second. Not for the first time, I wonder if I’ve just walked into a trap of some sort. Maybe he is planning on holding this over my head? Or maybe he’s thinking of ratting me out to Tess, just to see me suffer? Either way, I wouldn't be surprised.
“You still consider them your best friends, don't you?” Maxine clarifies, and X offers up another casual shrug. “He video chats them at least once a week.” She pauses to roll her eyes and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. “That, and they game at least six days a week.”
They game.
The idea of Parrish, Chasm, and X gaming together makes me fidgety, but I can’t exactly put my finger on why that is. Sip coffee, act normal, don’t let them know what a gamer fangirl you are.
“If Parrish is giving you a hard time, I could talk to him,” X offers, but I know immediately that whatever he might say isn’t going to help. I redirect my attention back to my drink. “He's struggling with this, too, I think.”
I turn my attention back up to X, trying not to feel offended by his statement.
“You're … defending him?” I query back, my voice thick with surprise. X sits up straight in his seat and leans back, running his tongue across his lower lip as Maxine gives him a look that very clearly demands he explain himself. “I've tried to be nice to him from moment one. He posted a TikTok rating my looks—poorly, I might add. It would've been an offensive move either way.” I turn my attention to the street outside, to the passersby wearing t-shirts in the rain, like they don't care that they’re getting wet. Hardly anyone is using an umbrella. Yet another PNW quirk. According to local lore, you can spot a foreigner miles off by the fact that they wear coats in the cold or use umbrellas. And by foreigner, I mean Californian. “Parrish chose to hate me before he even met me.”
“He's resentful toward you, I think,” X tries to explain, but Maxine’s harsh laugh knocks the conversation off-course for a minute.
