Page 96 of Rules, Roses, and Rivals
She stiffened and I nearly swore. But she braced a hand on the open door and met my gaze. The green of her eyes really was downright stunning. Frankie herself was a stunner, beautiful, long-legged even if she was shorter than the rest of us, lean, but fit and trim with a sweetheart face and a brain that didn’t quit—unless it came to us flirting.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out on a soft, slow exhale. “I’m really sorry.”
She dipped her chin and blinked twice before she tugged her sunglasses out. Thankfully, she didn’t slide them on and hide those eyes from me. “For what?”
“For not stopping it,” I said. “For not stepping in when Jake opened his mouth. For letting you walk back into that party alone.”
Her jaw tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t make him say it.”
“No,” I said. “But I didn’t stop him either.”
The silence stretched again.
“I kept thinking about the look on your face,” I said, voice lower now. “After. In the study. I’ve known you since we were five, and I’ve never seen you look like that.”
She still didn’t say anything.
“But I don’t want that to be the last thing you remember when you look at me,” I finished.
That got her.
She lifted her head then, enough to meet my gaze. The hurt was still there. So was the exhaustion. But the anger was gone.
I’d take it.
“We gonna stand here until graduation or are we going to school?” she asked, voice dry.
“Depends.” I huffed a laugh, shoulders easing for the first time since Saturday night. I circled the car to the passenger seat and put both backpacks in the back seat before I climbed in.
“On what?” she asked as she clipped her own seatbelt on and started the car.
“How much coffee have you had?”
The curve of her lips robbed me of breath, but there was the smile I adored. “Nowhere near enough.”
“Warning accepted. I’m texting Archie right now to make sure he gets yours—” Then before I could think on it too much, I added. “What does Frenc—what does Mat drink? I’ll make Archie get him one too.”
Her smile deepened and the air between us shifted as she backed out of her parking spot. “Mathieu is not a fan of American coffee.”
I gaped at her. “For real?”
“I know,” she said, sniffing once. “You should be grateful he isn’t perfect.”
We were far from a full repair for the damage that had been done, but the door was open and I was welcome again. Right now, that was more than enough.
“I’ll bow down and do a damn prayer.” Then because I could resist, I added, “IloveAmerican coffee.”
She laughed.
That was more than enough.
Chapter
Thirty-One
FRANKIE
Monday hit like a poorly timed pop quiz—unexpected, irritating, and laced with passive-aggressive energy.
