“You are no fun,” she says as she reaches into the back pocket of her practically painted-on jeans and pulls out a wad of cash. “I saw Eric tonight. Well, I hid Eric tonight.”

That catches my attention. “You hate Eric.” And Eric hates her. Their “businesses” often collide on the streets.

“I like the idea of Eric owing me a favor.” Figures. Abby is always working an angle.

“What’s this have to do with me?”

Like a five-year-old on a playground, Abby grabs on to the metal utility pole with her outstretched hand and walks in a slow circle. “We had time to kill so we chatted.”

“You chatted?”

“Yes.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “I’m capable of conversation at times. You know, will U of K make it to the final four this year, will the original Guns N’ Roses ever get back together, will I graduate from high school, and what people we know in common. Guess who came up in our chat?”

I shrug and fake an innocent expression. “Me?”

She scrunches her pixie face. “Smart guys make me so hot, but unfortunately, you do nothing for me. I’ve known you too long.”

“Abby,” I say with a bit of impatience. “Are we gonna wrap this up or not?”

“Eric said he owed you, so I volunteered to play mule.”

“That was extremely generous of you.” My instincts flare. She wants something.

“Yes, it is. But that is beside the point because now, sir, you owe me.”

I shake my head before she finishes talking. “Wrong. You volunteered to mule my money. I don’t owe you shit.”

Abby laughs and my mouth dries out. Where the hell is she heading? “We didn’t only talk about you, silly. Eric had a lot to say about two college kids who tipped off the police in order to create chaos so they could pull a gun on Eric and jack him.”

I focus on keeping my expression from changing. Abby doesn’t give info because she likes to talk. She’s fishing.

“How much did he lose?”

“Five thousand dollars, and let me tell you, Eric is not happy.”

I’m sure he’s not. Jacked in his own territory and he lost money. I’m sure Eric is on the warpath. “So if Eric got jacked then why is he willing to pay me?”

“You know Eric—he doesn’t believe in banks or investing, which is a shame with the amount of money he brings in. One of these days someone’s going to shoot him in the head and find his secret cubbyhole full of cash.”

Part of me wonders if Abby will be the one to do it. I let out a sigh. I took it too far. Abby’s all business with selling drugs, but she’s not a killer. At least not yet.

Abby continues, “You saved some of his guys tonight by spotting the cops. He wanted to make sure he paid his debt to you.”

“Not that I don’t find you interesting, but give me my money.”

“I like you better when you’re around cars. You’re less tense then. Anyhow.” She rubs the wad of cash between her fingers. “I think I’m going to hold on to this cash as a reward for keeping my mouth shut.”

“Give me my fucking money, Abby.” I’m tired of her games.

“All right, but you should know that Eric was not only interested in the whereabouts of those two college boys, but also in a particular blonde we both just saw leave. You looked cute together—you and the blonde. I’m sure Eric would pay royally to know you were up on the girl.”

A roar fills my ears as every muscle tenses. No one is going anywhere near Rachel.

No one.

Chapter 16

Rachel

HE NEVER CALLED. I WAITED. And he still never called. What I have a hard time comprehending is why I grieve for something that obviously was never mine to begin with.

A few tables away, my brothers laugh. Each of them holds a bottled beer. In order to hide our youngest brothers’ involvement in underage drinking, Gavin and Jack stand in front of West and Ethan. Cold air drifts into the bottom of the large white tent housing the hundreds of guests and chills my ankles. The overhead heaters keep me warm, but the alcohol keeps my brothers warmer.

A votive candle floats in a crystal bowl full of water and translucent rocks. My hand hovers over the single flickering flame. Every white-cloth-covered table contains one of these centerpieces. I’d bet I’m the only guest wondering how close I can place my hand to the flame before I get burned.

Seated at the table farthest from the couples slow-dancing in front of the stage, I cross one leg over the other. It’s a continual fidget meant to keep my limbs from falling asleep, and each time I move, I smooth out the material of my golden gown as if wrinkles will be the death of me. I think I look kinda pretty tonight, which is why every time I glimpse my reflection in the mirror my eyes water. I wanted Isaiah to see me this way.

“Would you like to dance?”

My heart beats twice and I glance up, hoping and praying that somehow Isaiah has found me, even though I’m at an exclusive New Year’s Eve party at the Lieutenant Mayor’s house. I mean, it’s possible. At least it’s possible in the daydreams I’ve had since I sat at this corner table over an hour ago. I force a wannabe smile when I find Brian Toddsworth staring down at me. A month ago, I would have loved for him to ask me to dance. Today... Why didn’t Isaiah call?

I shrug my bare shoulders while shaking my head. Heat flushes my face when I realize I have yet to answer and that I’m conveying so many different body language signs that it probably appears I’m having a seizure. “No, thank you,” I barely whisper.

Brian belongs in a different realm of popular than me, and the thought of saying the wrong thing and becoming a laughingstock makes my insides squirm. As if he’s shocked by the response, Brian’s head rears back. “Are you sure?”

“Nice party, Brian.” My twin, Ethan, moseys over from his seat with my brothers. All of whom are watching Brian and me closely. Sort of like how vultures watch the last twitch of roadkill.

Brian extends his fist to Ethan and they knuckle bump. They’ve been friends since kindergarten. Brian and I’ve been friends since never.

“The party’s awful,” says Brian. “Everyone from school is at Sarah’s. Spending New Year’s schmoozing for my parents blows. Part of me hopes Dad loses the primary next spring.”

Ethan jerks his head in my direction as if I’m a five-year-old who can’t follow a conversation. “Whatcha doing with Rachel?”

Brian’s cheeks redden. “Your mom mentioned to my mom that no one was talking to Rachel, and you know what happened last weekend, so I’m not in a position to disagree.”

Wow, Brian didn’t even try to pretend I wasn’t a pity dance. When my heels click on the temporary wooden floor of the tent, the pair evidently remembers my existence.

Ethan gestures at Brian then to me with his beer. “Can you try to have some tact when it comes to Rach? She is my sister.”

Twin. I prefer the word twin. Gavin, Jack and West are my brothers. I feel a special connection with Ethan. Brian acknowledges me with a glance. “I meant no disrespect. My parents grounded me when they found my pot, and if I do what Mom wants she’ll back off.”

I stare at my hands laced in my lap. I’ve always wanted to be told that dancing with me is a punishment reserved for the severest of offenders. Brian, I guess, rethinks his words and backtracks. “It’s not that you aren’t pretty or anything. You are.”

“What did you say?” asks Ethan. I bite my lower lip. Shut up, Ethan. Because my twin and I can’t speak telepathically, Ethan continues, “Are you into Rachel?”

“Hell no.”

Awesome. What girl doesn’t want to hear that?

“You said she’s pretty,” Ethan spits out as if that comment is an insult.

“She is,” says Brian. “But I’m not into her.”

Ethan’s shoulders sag with relief. “Good.”

Great. I think I’m going to drive a fork into my brother’s abdomen.