“Bill?”
“No, Gill. It’s a family name.” There was a slight frown on Rand’s forehead, like he was thinking of something, but I went on, “Anyway, Gill was given the Cookie Monster, and my mom got another secondhand car. Since then, it’s been passed down to every kid in turn. I drove it my last two years of high school, but I figured it wasn’t up to frequent trips back and forth to Madison, and my brother Donny had just graduated and gotten a job, so he took it. Just now, I was driving it home for my sister, Loveda. She’s sixteen. My dad always said it was perfect for teens because it’s built like a tank. Good in an accident, you know? Not that we’ve ever had one. Knock on wood.”
“I can see that. A semi would have to drive over the top of it to hurt that car.”
“Exactly. So, anyway, I had reason to trust the Cookie Monster. It’s never let us down before. It’s actually sad that she died on my watch.” I felt a pang of nostalgia and stirred my iced tea. But I supposed nothing lasts forever. “I’ll never forget the time I drove her to Florida—me and five friends went right after high school graduation. What a trip.” I smiled at the memory.
Rand made a thoughtful sound. “I don’t think our family has ever owned a car longer than two years. My dad leases them, you know? Tax write-off.”
“You’ve gotta fall in love with a car at least once in your life,” I said. “It’s a rite of passage.”
Rand’s expression was amused. “Is that right?”
“Absolutely. If you did ever fall for a car, what kind would it be? Not a Lexus.”
“No,” he agreed at once. “Not a Lexus. I mean, it’s a nice car, but….”
“It’s a dad’s car.”
He gave me a sharp look. “It’s the car my dad thinks I should drive, yeah.”
I shrugged. “Hey. I’d drive a new Lexus if someone offered it to me. So what’s your dream car. Porsche? Lamborghini?”
He rolled his eyes, but only a little. “You really don’t know the first thing about me, Jax.”
I waved a hand between us. “Hence the conversation.”
He blew out a breath. “I dunno. Maybe a Land Rover Defender or some of the high-end Jeeps like a Dragon or Rubicon. Those are hot. There’s a new electric version.”
I was surprised. Those were more off-road sport vehicles, though certainly mega-expensive. I had to tease him though. “Ah. So, in other words, a I-have-a-small-penis vehicle.”
His mouth dropped open. “I thought you called a truce.”
“Right. Sorry. I won’t mention your small penis again.” I grinned.
He rolled his eyes—huge this time—but he laughed. “Dipshit. So, purely out of intellectual curiosity, how long have you been obsessing about my penis size?”
I raised my eyebrows at him. I wasn’t going to answer that. Not honestly, anyway.
“So you really have that many siblings, huh? I heard you say at dinner you had seven.”
“Six,” I corrected. “I make seven.” And I wouldn’t give up a single one of them. “What about you?”
His expression fell, and he looked out the window. “Uh… I have a sister one year younger than me. That’s it.”
“Are you close?”
“We were.” Rand’s voice was tight.
The waitress brought our food, which was a blessing. There was practically a neon sign flashing above Rand’s head—Topic verboten. Message received. But I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to Rand’s sister.
Rand looked at my veg bowl flatly and dug into his pasta and chicken with relish. He waved a fork at my plate. “Vegetarian?”
“Vegan.”
He nodded, as if he expected as much. “Is that a family thing? An environment thing? Or a show-off thing?”
I snorted. “A show-off thing? Like my beans are bound to impress?”
“You’re the type,” he said bitterly.
Whoosh. That insta-anger flared to life in me again. I took a long drink of tea and took my time answering. He gave you a ride, I reminded myself. “To quote you, Rand—you don’t know me. I had four older siblings. So believe me when I say that any desire to show off, or any tendency to feel entitled or full of myself—unlike some people I could name—was teased or tormented out of me real quick.” I stuck a load of food on my fork and had a hard time not flinging it across the table at his perfect, probably ironed white T-shirt. “I don’t think I’m special. In fact, I know I’m not. I’m one of seven Johnsons who all look alike, for one thing. And I’m probably the least interesting of even that small data set. So no, I’m not showing off. My entire family is vegan with the exception of some eggs my mom’s hens leave on our doorstep. But, ya know, thanks for asking and not making freakishly hostile assumptions.”
He stared narrow-eyed at me for a moment, then got a tiny smirk. “Freakishly hostile, huh? Interesting choice of words. It’s funny how you have a reputation for being so chill, Jax. Strangely, I don’t see it.” Sarcasm dripped from his words.
I had a vivid flash of my iced tea dripping from his head, but I refrained.
For a while, we ate in silence. By the time I’d finished my veg bowl, I’d cooled down enough to realize he was right. I had been more freakishly hostile than he’d been. And to think, we’d half been getting along. I vowed to do better.
“I really do appreciate your offering me a ride,” I said slowly. “It was a… a kind thing to do.”
Rand gave me a long stare. “Needs must. You want dessert?”
I gave him a big smile. “No, the pleasure of your company is sweet enough.”
That time, he actually fought back a laugh.
We finished our meal and stood at the register to pay our separate tabs. Rand finished first and stepped outside. I waited while the lady at the cash register took a call and wrote down a take-out order.
Out the window, I saw Rand on the grass. He stretched his arms over his head, probably tight from all the driving. The position made the beautiful V of his body stand out and emphasized a perfect ass and long legs. A strip of golden skin showed where his shirt had ridden up on his back. Damn, that guy had looks. Movie-star looks. Make-you-hyperventilate looks. Something stirred in my belly, and, sadly, it wasn’t the first time I’d felt it while looking at Rand Charles.
I hated being that shallow. So what that he was beautiful? I reminded myself that he was still a Grade-A asshole. Or possibly a Grade B now that he’d proven himself nice enough not to abandon me in PA. He was still the head of the ALA house. He was still the guy who sneered about Poins. Still the guy who’d looked at me for the past three years like he hated my guts. And he was still a privileged rich douche, heir to an earth-polluting oil empire. He was my sworn enemy for that reason alone—and that was above and beyond the SMT and ALA feud.
A yellow VW bug pulled into the parking lot, and a guy in a gray hoodie got out. I turned back to the lady at the register, now impatient to leave.
She looked past me toward the parking lot and her expression fell. “Hey!” she yelled. She glanced around as if for help.
I turned and looked outside. Holy shit. Rand was fighting with someone. The guy in the hoodie. What the hell?