Spark. Brigid Kemmerer
she was packing her things, Gabriel grabbed Simon’s arm and turned to face him. “What did you say?”
Simon grinned and gestured for his phone.
I said you’d play a lot better if you weren’t staring at my sister.
Gabriel fiddled with the dials when they pulled onto the main road, trying to get some heat going. Layne was curled into the front seat, her backpack on the floor. Her eyes were locked forward, her hands in her lap. Lights from oncoming cars flickered off her glasses.
“You warm enough?” Gabriel said, just to break the silence.
“I’m fine.” Her voice seemed very small in the confines of the car.
“You’ll have to give directions.”
She cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. “We live in Compass Pointe. You know where that is?”
“Yeah.” Compass Pointe was the rich neighborhood at the north end of town, the kind with eight-bedroom houses and servant quarters over the garage—though he didn’t know any that actually had servants. Michael did the landscaping for three houses out there, and they were three of his highest-paying customers.
“Shouldn’t you be in a private school or something?” he asked.
“My father says he got by on a public education, and that should be good enough for anybody.” She paused. “He’s a defense attorney. A good one.”
“I’m surprised you’re not driving a BMW to school.”
She bristled. “First of all, my parents have the money, not me, and second of all, I don’t have a license yet. I didn’t think you’d be the kind of guy to get all weird about where I live—”
“Whoa!” God, it was like he couldn’t avoid colliding with the chip on her shoulder. “I’m just saying. Heather Castelline lives out here and no one can get her to shut up about crap like how much her manicure costs.”
Layne made a face. Her arms were folded across her chest now. “I’m not Heather Castelline.”
Gabriel snorted. “Obviously.”
Layne didn’t say anything, just turned her head and looked out the window. Her sudden silence smacked him across the face as effectively as a hand would have.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t figure her out at all.
And it was making him crazy.
Then he noticed the little sniffing sounds, the way her fingers had a death grip on her biceps.
“Layne?” He glanced over. “Are you crying?” Simon was silent, oblivious in the backseat.
She didn’t turn her head. “Forget it.”
What had he said? He wished he could pull the car over, but they were in the middle of three lanes of traffic on Ritchie Highway. He didn’t even know how to play this. “I don’t . . . what’s—”
“I don’t know why you have to be so mean all the time,” she said, turning her head just far enough that he could see there were definitely tears on her cheeks. “Do you have any idea what it feels like, the way you treat people?”
“What the hell did I say?” he demanded.
She sniffed. “Obviously.”
Jesus, this was so infuriating. “Obviously what?”
“You said obviously. Obviously I’m not Heather Castelline. Well, you know what? Not everyone is a hot blond cheerleader, Gabriel Merrick. I’m sure in your world, every girl should have a perfect rack and great legs and flaunt them for your benefit, but we aren’t all such paragons of perfection.”
Wow.
Gabriel stared out the windshield at the traffic. The ridges in the steering wheel were biting into his palms. “I guess you told me.”
This was worse than fighting with Michael. At least he could haul off and hit his brother and tell him he was being an asshole.
But Layne was still crying silently, staring out the window, her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.
When he came to a red light, he looked over. “Hey.”
She didn’t look. “I said, forget it.”
“I know what you said. Look at me.”
“If I look at you, Simon will know I’m crying.”
The light turned, and he had to look back at the road anyway.
He spoke into the silence, hearing his voice come out rough. “When I said ‘obviously,’ it was because Heather Castelline is a total bitch who’ll only give you the time of day if she needs something from you. Nicky went out with her once, and he spent two days swearing he’d rather cut his balls off than date a girl like her again.”
Layne didn’t say anything.
“She’s the last person who’d criticize me for getting into it with some sophomore tool in the hallway, and she’d be more likely to copy my quiz than to fix the wrong answers. She sure as hell wouldn’t stay after school because her brother was having a good time.”
Layne didn’t speak, but he could swear she was looking at him now.
Gabriel kept his eyes on the road. “It had nothing to do with what you look like.”
She swallowed. “Okay. Whatever.”
“Besides, you could totally have a perfect rack and great legs. I just can’t tell. If you want to flaunt them so I can make final judgment—”
She punched him in the arm.
But now she was smiling.
And blushing.
He had to stop for the next light, and he looked over. Dampness still clung to her cheeks, but she didn’t look like she was plotting to kill him.
When he made the turn into her development, she said, “I can still help you with math.” She paused, her tone nonchalant. “If you want.”
“What, you mean now?”
“Did you understand tonight’s assignment?”
He hadn’t understood an assignment in about five years. His shoulders were already tense. “I’ll be all right.”
“You planning to go home and have your brother do it for you?”
He wasn’t even sure if Nick was home. Gabriel didn’t say anything. He didn’t like that Nick did the work for him, but Layne knowing . . . That, he hated.
He pulled into her driveway and sat there, putting the car in park but not killing the engine. He stared at the pattern his headlights made on the garage, wide circles of light bouncing off the stone façade of her house.
“What’s wrong?” she said. “Tough guy can’t be good at math?”
“Hey.” He swung his head around, his jaw tight.
She didn’t back away, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. “How can you sit there in class every day, pretending to follow along?”
“That’s the easy part.”
She stared back at him. “I don’t think it is.”
He looked back at the garage and didn’t say anything. She was right. It was killing him, but she was right.
Simon reached between the seats and tapped Layne on the shoulder. Gabriel didn’t need to understand sign language to figure out the message.
What’s going on?
Gabriel turned the key and yanked it out of the ignition, reaching over the center console to grab his backpack. “All right,” he said