Page 34 of The Cheerleader

Chapter Eight

Susie

He nods at me. Studies me with those dark, unfathomable eyes. Does he remember me? Does he remember the little girl who ran to him while he was lying in the ditch that day? And I gave him candy, of all things?

Maybe I hope he doesn’t remember me, because now, nine years later, I realize how silly it was to give a bleeding person candy, insisting he needed it.

“I see you like the pizza.” What a stupid, inane thing to say. I need to get that silly young girl out of my head. If I’m trying to engage him in conversation, to say anything, I’ll need to do better than you like pizza.

Of course, he says nothing as he devours the pizza like a grizzly bear eating a mouse. The pizza didn’t stand a chance. I slant a glance at Dane, and he’s talking to some guys down the other end of the table, or rather shouting.

Turning back to Bryan, for whatever reason, call it old times’ sake, I need to get a rise out of him.

“So how are the crops this year?”

He raises his brow, and now I can see that twitch in his mouth. It’s an unmistakable almost-smile. He’s definitely amused, if still silent.

“What do you grow? On your farm?” I ask.

“Not tobacco.”

He’s so uninterested in talking that he takes another sip of his beer.

I shrug. “Okay. I give up. I’ll stop trying to have a conversation with you since you so clearly are not interested.”

Then lo and behold, his eyes intensify, and I swear he’s about to say something, but Liz bumps into me from behind.

“Sorry.” She bends down and looks between us, a sloppy grin on her face, and I smell beer and something else. It smells like hard liquor. I recognize the smell from… her father the few times I’ve met him.

I whisper, “I thought you weren’t going to drink when you saw Bryan?”

She ignores me as she puts her arms around us, drawing us into a huddle, dragging me close enough to Bryan so that his scent overpowers the alcohol on Liz. He smells like soap and musky sweat and pizza.

“You two getting along? You behaving nice to my girl, Bry?” She holds her grin and winks at him.

“You’re drunk, Liz.” His voice is flat, but I can sense his disappointment.

She leans in close to him, and I hold my breath, but he doesn’t back away. “I’m only tipsy, I promise.” Liz sounds like a guilty child and crosses her heart, trying to look serious.

Bryan snorts, “Splitting hairs.” He tosses me an accusing look like I’m supposed to be her keeper.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” Liz stumbles as she straightens up, and I rise to follow her. She throws up a hand to stop me. “No. Leave me alone.”

I stop mid-motion, in shock because that’s the first time I’ve heard Liz speak to me—or anyone—like that. She takes off without turning back, not even a smile to soften her belligerent tone.

Maybe she’s embarrassed because she didn’t keep her promise not to get drunk in front of Bryan. He clearly doesn’t like it. I’m guessing it’s because she throws herself at him. But that’s his problem, not mine. It’s my turn to give him an accusing look. He appears unaffected, but I’d bet anything he’s hiding whatever he feels. Because obviously he feels something.

“Don’t mind her. She’s only tipsy,” he says.

“Ha ha.” I make sure he hears my sarcasm and wave a hand around the table. “Everyone here is tipsy.”

“Not you.” A slight impression shows at one corner of his mouth, and I think it might even be a smile. Holy shit.

I force my mouth to stay firmly flat because why should he smile at me now when he never smiles, when Liz has stalked—or stumbled—off and I’m giving him this almost mean look? I sit and double down on the accusation in my expression, furrowing my brows so hard it affects my vision.

The slight curve of his mouth still only hints at his amusement, and he leans in. “I heard they call you princess.” His words are quiet as they rumble from deep in his throat, reaching my ears like a crescendo and making me vibrate.

I scoff even as I practically palpitate with nerves. Because I think he may be flirting. “More like ex-princess.” Shit. “Not that I ever was a princess. And not that it’s any of your business,” I add, and I don’t remember when I’ve felt this awkward, or so confused that I’ve lost whatever reticence I’m supposed to have with a stranger.