Page 63 of Hating On Riot

Riot does something I absolutely love, and butterflies flutter in my belly as my knees go weak. He intertwines our fingers, brings my knuckles to his mouth, and kisses each knuckle, from my thumb to my pinky, before he drops a kiss on my pulse point.

“Eventually, we’ll have to, just like we’ll need to talk about her.”

“Riot—”

“I know I made a promise, but we need closure. Your brothers need it too. Admit it, Arie. It’s the reason they stick to you like white on rice. They worry because they care. Because you’re their little sis. You’re their only sister now that she’s gone.”

He’s right. My mom’s only had boys. It was Laney and me, and my brothers spoiled us rotten, but they were also overprotective. Are brothers always like that, or just my brothers because of where we lived, in a housing project riddled with crime, drugs, and prostitution?

“Give me time,” I ask.

“Don’t make me, us, wait another four years. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Thank you, baby.” He gives me one of his panty-melting crooked smiles before returning his attention to the road.

“For what?”

“For letting me into your world.”

He’s the exception, but he shouldn’t be, now that he’s my guy.

There are my friends, the girls I’ve shared four great years with, but I’ve barely shared the other parts of my life with them—the painful parts, the parts that would make them question whether I’m a good person. Then there’s Cooper.

He held me when my tears came out of nowhere, or when I went silent from the guilt that weighed me down every time I thought about Laney and how she died. I never told him why I cried or went silent, and he never asked or demanded that I tell him. But my unwillingness to share the God-awful parts of my life with him destroyed our friendship.

Other than the mystery blonde he has feelings for, Cooper has shared everything with me. He’s shared his insecurities about his looks, saying he isn’t handsome or sexy enough compared to the other guys on the football team.

When we’ve gone out to Midnight’s bar, Cooper would visibly tense up when the guys on the team walked by us, then relax when they stopped to talk to him. He doesn’t believe he’s charming or charismatic enough. He thinks he’s just a kicker, but he’s won us many games with his winning kicks.

Riot turns into the street that leads to the parking lot by the library and parks next to Cooper’s truck. I unbuckle and start to get out.

“Wait.” Grabbing both our backpacks off the floor and then his coffee, Riot gets out, shoulders the door shut, and runs around to my door. He opens it. I grab my coffee and hop out—his black truck is lifted and has huge tires. What is it with guys and their lifted trucks?

“Hey, Coop.” Riot jerks his head toward my BFF. “Wanna round up the magnificent ten for a practice run at Rafe Sánchez’s farm from eleven to noon? There’s an open field with old farm machinery, and a corn maze next to it. I checked everyone’s schedules, and that’s the common denominator. We can grab lunch on the go on the drive back to Dumas.”

“When did you have time to do this?” I ask, surprised.

“While you were getting ready in my bathroom.” Riot looks pointedly at Coop and wiggles his eyebrows. Cooper rolls his eyes and gestures for Riot to hand over my backpack.

We’re in public. It’s expected that my boyfriend, rather than the bad boy on and off the field who is teaching me evasive maneuvers, carry my backpack and, apparently, my coffee too when Cooper eyes my cup. I hand it to him. He takes a long drink. That butt! I swat his shoulder, but he’s quick and dodges my hand. Riot laughs, and the rich, deep sound draws the girls’ attention.

I shouldn’t be jealous, but I am when they brazenly approach him to ask whether he’ll be at Galley’s party. I plan to be MIA for that one. Syn will be returning Zeke’s uniform shirt, and I don’t want to be anywhere near when she is either caught or when Dare shows up, playing the role of overbearing, overprotective best friend from hell.

Jesus, that boy and his cousin, Midnight, are serious head cases. But I get what Syn and Riley see in them. They might be crazy, but they’re also the nicest guys.

One girl pushes me aside to get closer to Riot. She’s my height, with long, chestnut-brown hair and big blue eyes in a heart-shaped face. She’s beautiful. Smart too. A future nurse. She and Riot would make beautiful babies. I want to gouge out her eyes and butcher her hair.

“How come you stopped coming around?” She sidles up to him and grabs his muscular arm with both hands. “It’s been what, a week since you last stopped by my place?” She leans into him and runs a manicured nail down the front of his shirt.

Riot is mouth-watering in loose, dark blue jeans that hang low at his waist and a fire-engine-red shirt that draws attention to his green eyes.

“Yeah, that’s about right.” He pries her fingers off his arm and steps back. “I’ve been busy.” He runs his fingers through his hair and looks everywhere but at me.

Did he mislead me about his body count? Did he and his rugby buddies, who aren’t over girls from their pasts, actually do what Riot said they did, spreading rumors that they’re men-whores when in reality they have long bouts of abstinence? Am I the naïve one for believing his words, thinking he’s changed?

After my brothers punished Riot for that stolen kiss beneath the bleachers, it was as if he became a different guy. He got into fights. He partied so hard I was sure he wouldn’t get accepted to a university, let alone on a scholarship. Riot’s family is as poor as mine.