Erin McCarthy - Sweet

He might have a point. But so did I. “Look, it’s simple psychology. Our environment affects our mood. This is a depressing environment. An investment of seventy-five dollars spread out over the six months you may still be living here is barely three dollars a week and it can have a huge impact on attitude.”

“Are you for real right now?” He shook his head. “If this is such a depressing environment you don’t have to stay here, you know. You can go climb on Nerd Boy and talk him into putting up with you.”

That stung. Wounded, I lashed back at him. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m trying to do something nice. And for the record, I wasn’t expecting you to pay for the paint, it was supposed to be a gift.”

“I don’t need your damn charity and I don’t need this kitchen painted.” Riley put down his beer, and he went over to the one blank wall where my fresh paint squares were drying. I jumped when he kicked the wall with his heel, denting the drywall. “This house should be burned to the ground. It’s a fucking cesspool, and before the bank kicks us out I’m taking a sledgehammer to everything in it.” He kicked twice more, finally succeeding in putting his heel into the wall. “This is me not giving a shit about this house.”

“Fine,” I retorted. “Do that in six months. But maybe in the meantime everyone else who lives here would like to enjoy their surroundings.”

“You don’t live here,” he said.

Like I needed reminding. Like I wanted to. “I meant Tyler, Jayden, and Easton.”

“You’re really annoying.”

“And you’re stupidly stubborn. It’s like you’re determined to be miserable.”

“What do you know about miserable, princess? What do you know about having your mother stoned out of her mind nailing you in the head with a frying pan, huh? What do you know about walking in and seeing your eight-year-old brother eating moldy bread and drinking spoiled milk?”

“Nothing,” I said, frustrated with him. Frustrated that he didn’t respond to me the way other guys did. Why couldn’t he just accept that I was trying to be nice? Why did no one think I was capable of being nice and then when I was it was rejected? “But when Rory comes over here and bakes cookies, does it make you mad?”

“No.”

“Do the boys like it?”

He bit his fingernail and looked at the floor. “Of course they like it. They’re cookies.”

“So what’s the big deal about a little home improvement? I promise it won’t be girly. It will look like four dudes live here.”

There was an enormous pause, and I waited in anxious anticipation. This was important to me, for whatever reason.

“Fine. For the boys.” His jaw worked, but he even managed to say, “Thanks.”

I grinned, relieved that he had given in. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m going to need your help. I have no freaking clue how to paint a room.”

He snorted. “So your gift is causing work for me?”

Oopsie. It was a bit of a Kylie move. “It will be worth it,” I promised. “I just need some advice, not actual man power. Though I’m determined to spend as little as possible, so I might need some minor construction help now that I think about it.” I gave him a pleading look. “Please?”

Riley shook his head. “Unbelievable. I swear, you’d test the patience of a saint.”

“If not a saint, definitely I test the patience of a preacher. Just ask my dad.”

“Your father is a preacher?”

“Yes.” It had to come out sooner or later, so I figured I should just get it over with. Let the jokes begin.

But Riley just nodded. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that I can see now why you might not want to go home for the summer. It’s probably tough to deal with all those expectations. You have to be a good girl, right?”

Suspicious, I nodded. This wasn’t the normal reaction I got. Usually guys made cracks about preachers’ daughters being the most fun and how if you had sex with one it made you closer to God. The usual crude and stupid comments.

“You don’t think I’m a good girl, do you?” I asked, already knowing the answer. No one really thought I was a good girl, even though I didn’t think I was a bad girl. Where was the label for the morally ambiguous? Nothing I ever did hurt anyone else, but I can’t say I was contributing a whole lot to the greater good of mankind. But I figured that could wait until I was on my own, when I wasn’t walking this fine line of pleasing my parents while still having enough space to breathe.

Riley handed me his half-finished beer, confusing me. But before I could ask why, he looked me in the eye and said, “Jess, I’ve got no business judging anyone. But I can offer you some advice if you don’t mind.”

“Sure.” Though my palms started to sweat anticipating what he might say.

“Never ask someone to tell you who you are. You tell them.”

The irony was, I had thought I was doing that when I’d come to college, but I realized Riley was right. My message of who I was wasn’t clear to anyone, not even to me. A hot taste of dissatisfaction filled my mouth. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s not so easy with my dad.”

“I’m sure it’s not. But you’re on your own now, right?”

I nodded and took a sip of the beer. “I’m drinking this.”

“That’s why I gave it to you. And if you want to offer me advice right back, here’s your chance. I opened the door.”

He leaned on the kitchen counter, crossing his ankles and his arms, a sly smile on his face. I wondered what he thought I would say. He certainly looked like he thought I was predictable. It was hard to study him, because I didn’t understand my reaction to him. Annoyance was still there, simmering under the surface, wanting to smack his arrogance off his face, but there were more complex feelings there now as well. An odd sort of kinship, attraction, definitely, and maybe something that if the thought didn’t make me want to throw up a little, tender.

It was that last one that prompted me to say, “Yes. I do have some advice. Use sunscreen on your face tomorrow. You don’t want to end up losing half your nose at forty from melanoma.”

First his eyes widened in surprise, then he laughed, even as his finger came up to stroke over the red skin on his nose. “I didn’t see that one coming. Thanks, Mom. I’m going to go take a shower.” On his way out of the kitchen, he casually tapped the paint sample on the far left. “I like this one the best.”

That simple gesture made me feel a little gooey inside. So after he went to bed, I put my odor-free sunscreen bottle on the counter in the bathroom with a note that said Safety First <3 .

A small part of me expected a smart-ass comment back in response to my note, but I didn’t get one. Was I disappointed? Yeah, I’m not going to lie. If Riley couldn’t predict me, I couldn’t predict him either.

But I had enough to keep me busy. I searched online for step-by-step instructions on how to paint a room, and I made a supply list. I decided to take the bus back to the hardware store, which made me a little—okay, a lot—nervous, but I couldn’t ask Robin to drive me again, and Riley had taken his car to work. I didn’t want to wait to get started because now that I had a green light from Riley, I was excited about the Mann kitchen makeover. I wanted to do it immediately, if not sooner.

So putting my wallet in my backpack, I slung it over my shoulders, putting the change for the bus in one pocket, my phone with the bus routes pulled up on it in the other. Keeping an eye out for gangbanging tweens, I walked down the street to catch the 10:55 bus. It was sweaty-balls hot again. My T-shirt was already sticking to my ribs. By the time I climbed on the bus, the back of my neck was wet and I was thinking maybe it was time to buy myself a crappy car. This was a suckfest.