Page 27 of Cru's Crush
“I should. I like peach better, anyway.” She got up and left again, but returned empty-handed in under a minute.
“Out of peach?” I asked.
“Nah. I decided to have something else. My ma is making us both breakfast.”
I studied Alex. Maybe it wasn’t just Cru whose mind seemed to race in a hundred directions at once. Maybe all the Avilas acted like he did, and I’d just never noticed.
“Okay, so anyway. Cru is crazy about you, and from what I’ve seen, the feeling is mutual.”
“I love your brother, but not in a romantic way. He feels exactly the same.” I leaned closer. “And what about Anthony Ricci?”
Her eyes scrunched, then opened wide. “Oh my God! Did you think I meant Anthony and Cru were together?”
I shrugged. “Since I’ve never seen him with a woman, I thought maybe, you know.”
Alex laughed out loud. “The reason you haven’t is because he’s been hung up on you since the first time you met.” She looked at my plate. “Can I have some more while we’re waiting? I’m starving.”
I pushed the plate in front of her.
“Wanna bet?”
“About what?” I asked.
“How Cru feels about you.”
I shook my head. “At the moment, I’d rather not know.”
“Just leave it to me,” said Alex at the same time her mother delivered breakfast, which looked like enough food to feed all seven Avila siblings.
7
CRU
There were two ways to get to Brix’s house. One went through the back, and not many people knew about it. Since there was someone right behind me, I kept going and pulled through the main gates.
This way would go by the winery buildings and the main residence. Ma wouldn’t give me grief for not stopping in; she was at the diner.
When I got close, I saw someone else sitting on the porch. So I pulled off the drive and parked.
“Hey, Bit. Nice to see you.” My dad had been the one to give Trevino the nickname. At the time, he’d called him Little Bit, since he was so much smaller than the rest of us. Even Snapper and Kick, who were two and three years younger than him, were taller by the time Trevino was ten. He eventually shot up in height and filled out enough to be on the offensive line when he played high school football.
“Where’s Ma?” he asked.
“At the diner.”
My brother nodded.
“Do you need something?”
“Thinking about breakfast.” He’d always been a guy of few words. I couldn’t say whether his head injury had made it worse or not.
“I haven’t eaten if you wanna go with me.”
He stood, walked down the porch steps, and I followed.
“Where’s your car?” I asked after we were in mine.
“Parked by the caves.”
