Stealing the Bad Boy

by Emma St Clair

  “They sound really interesting. What if I like all three?”

  A sound came from Sy’s chest that sounded very much like a low growl. Amy pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  Delia gave a nervous laugh. “Oh. Well, I guess we’ll have to see. Maybe Mom and I could help you decide.”

  “I’m happy to help,” Sy said, his voice almost a growl. He sounded anything but helpful.

  “No, thanks. The last thing I need is you scaring them off,” Amy said.

  “That’s the idea,” Sy said. Amy’s eyebrows shot up, and Delia pursed her lips.

  The two of them sat glaring daggers at each other until Mrs. Winters stood. “Delia, why don’t you help me clear the table?”

  Amy jumped up. “That’s okay. I’ll help. We can let Delia and Sy catch up.”

  Without another glance, she carried the salad bowl and the pitcher of water to the kitchen. She started scrubbing the dishes as her mother brought them in, wishing the sound of the running water would cover up the sound of Delia’s flirty voice and giggling in the dining room.

  “Is everything okay?” Mrs. Winters asked, touching Amy’s back where she stood at the sink.

  Amy could feel the emotions gathering in her chest like storm clouds. Everything was most definitely not okay. Her jealousy over Sy had kept her from thinking all night about the missed calls from her doctor that she still hadn’t returned. But at her mother’s kind touch, all of it came rushing back.

  “Yep.” Dipping her head so that her mom couldn’t see her face, Amy turned and wrapped her mom up in a hug.

  “Oh, sweetie.”

  Her mom stroked her hair, calling to mind so many memories from childhood. Amy bit her lip until the pain made her let up, doing her best to hold back the tears she felt gathering. Thankfully, her mother didn’t ask her any questions because Amy knew the moment she opened her mouth, the floodgates would open. She loved that her mom didn’t feel the need to press her for why she was upset. Her mom would make her call the doctor back, and she simply wasn’t ready to face the news yet, good or bad.

  Maybe because she felt sure that it would be bad.

  After a few minutes, Amy felt her shaky breaths even out. She gave her mother a last squeeze and pulled back to meet her eyes. “Thanks, Mom,” she said. Her voice was still a little wobbly, but she did not cry.

  “I’m always here.”

  “I know.”

  “Ames?” The sound of Sy’s voice made her jump. He stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets and an apologetic look on his face. “Are you ready to go?”

  She nodded. “Sure.” Giving her mom a last smile, Amy grabbed the groceries she’d left in the fridge earlier.

  “Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Winters,” Sy said. “Dinner was delicious. And if you need any more merch, I can be sure to send some your way.”

  Amy tried not to stare daggers at Sy as he hugged her mom.

  “Oh! I’d love that. I mean, I couldn’t possibly accept …”

  “Sure you could,” he said easily. “I’ll have it done as soon as I get back. Ames?”

  She clutched the grocery sack to her chest. “Where’s Delia?”

  “Right here.” Delia appeared from the hallway and snaked her arm around Sy’s bicep, giving it a squeeze.

  Amy’s stomach lurched. She was glad she’d only picked at her dinner. Pushing past Delia and Sy, she resisted the urge to drop her groceries and grab her sister by the hair.

  She couldn’t wait to escape this dinner and this whole night. But especially Sy. She just had to survive the ride back to the bed-and-breakfast with him.

  “Where are you staying?” Delia asked Sy, as they reached the front door.

  Amy shot Sy a wide-eyed look. The last thing she wanted was for her sister to know that Sy was at the bed-and-breakfast. Delia would be over there in five seconds with her bags to stay for the week.

  Sy seemed to pick up on her panic. “I usually stay with the twins when I’m in town.” Sy hadn’t exactly lied, but hadn’t told the truth either.

  Amy gave him a quick nod and then escaped outside. “Bye, Mom! See you, Delia!”

  Sy’s car was locked, and Amy leaned against the door, looking out toward the street. She definitely wasn’t ready to witness a goodbye kiss between her sister and Sy.

  But he barreled out of the house not a moment later. Delia hesitated in the doorway, looking like she had half a mind to chase after him. “See you tomorrow? Call me!”

  Sy didn’t answer but jogged over to Amy’s door. He clicked the fob to unlock it and swung the door open wide. When he stepped closer, she pinned him with a death stare.

  “Don’t you dare try to touch me right now.”

  His mouth tightened, but he nodded. It took her a moment to scramble into the car without tipping over the grocery bag. He closed it behind her, walking around the back of the car this time.

  Amy caught Delia still watching from the porch. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, looking surprisingly vulnerable. When Sy got behind the wheel, Delia put on what Amy called her pageant smile. She kept waving from the porch, despite the lack of reaction from inside the car.

  Sy practically peeled out of the driveway but slowed to a normal pace. The moment they were out of the neighborhood, they both let out a heavy breath. Amy glanced at Sy just as he looked at her. She dropped her gaze and turned her body to face the window, watching Christmas lights on the houses they passed.

  They drove for a few minutes, the silence between them like a living, breathing presence.

  “Everything all right?” Sy asked.

  “Right as rain.” Amy closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest.

  “You don’t really seem all right.”

  Amy made a noncommittal noise, but when she didn’t say anything else, Sy continued. “Look, I want you to know, um, about Delia—”

  “I don’t want to talk about my sister.”

  “It’s just that—”

  “Sy, it’s fine,” she snapped.

  Amy could see Sy watching her when they pulled up to a red light, but she refused to look at him.

  “I owe you an explanation.”

  Now, she did turn toward him. “You don’t owe me a single thing.”

  Sy banged his hands on the steering wheel as the light turned green. “I don’t want to date your sister!”

  His outburst surprised her. She didn’t know what to make of his passion or his words or how her stomach knotted up.

  “Could have fooled me. And Delia. Does she know that?”

  “I tried to make it clear,” he muttered. “I’m not sure she got the message.”

  “Didn’t look like she did.” Amy shifted in her seat, feeling the cold from the groceries seeping into her thighs. She knew that she was being bratty and sullen, but she was all out of the ability to care.

  Sy finally seemed to give up, driving again in silence almost all the way back to the bed-and-breakfast. Amy let herself wallow in the bitter thoughts swirling around her head. She didn’t want to put any stock in Sy’s words. Because if she hoped that they were true and he didn’t want to date Delia, she’d set herself up to be hurt all over again.

  And seeing Sy and Delia together, no matter what he said now, hurt more than anything she could remember.

  The whole dinner had transported Amy back to high school, being the sick girl in the background. The one with the older sister who was literally the epitome of the high school dream: cheerleader, popular, gorgeous, and never without a boyfriend. Not to mention prom queen.

  In comparison, Amy was the bald, ugly younger sister who got everyone’s sympathetic looks and pity. Or sometimes looks of disgust. Once, on a rare night she felt like going out to dinner with her family, she overheard someone in the restaurant whisper, “She looks like a skeleton. She’s like a ghost girl!”

  It was an apt description. Amy did look like she had one foot in the grave. And next to Delia, A
my was a ghost. Invisible. The cancer hadn’t just consumed her body, but her whole identity.

  People congratulated Delia on scholarships or awards and told her how beautiful she was becoming. They either ignored Amy, or they said things like, “we’re praying for you” and “you’re so brave.”

  Amy would smile politely, maybe even say thank you, but inside, she bristled at the comments and their pitying looks. She wasn’t brave. She was terrified and exhausted all the time. Not to mention jealous of her older sister.

  But you deal with the hand you’re dealt, and Amy’s hand happened to be cancer. There was nothing brave about it. She had simply adapted to what she was given and tried to stuff down the anger about it all.

  Amy might have made it through cancer, but that ghost girl still lived inside her. Through the years, Amy knew she could step right back into that life. In fact, she had almost expected it. Like cancer returning was an ax being swung, already in the air. She was just waiting for gravity to make it crash down on her.

  The ghost girl had stirred to life when Amy first found the lump that sent her in for testing. Then again, when the doctor called back about results. And tonight, seeing Sy and Delia together, it felt like the ghost girl rose up and took over, burying the healthy, happy girl she’d been just hours ago.

  “Why are you mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad. I’m just …” She let her voice trail off with a shrug.

  Amy didn’t know how to finish that sentence, and she was too exhausted to have this conversation. She wasn’t mad at Sy. She was mad at herself. Maybe even mad at Delia. And maybe, underneath it all, she was angry at God for what felt like an unfair hand.

  Sy pulled into the driveway of the bed-and-breakfast and turned off the engine, but he made no move to get out. “Ames, could we talk?”

  Amy chewed on the inside of her cheek, weighing the words carefully. “Can we shelve all talking until tomorrow? I feel like tonight, I just need to let my mind catch up to the day.”

  Sy looked like he wanted to argue but blew out a breath and nodded. “Yeah.”

  Amy glanced across the seat, feeling like so many miles were between them now compared to earlier. It was hard to remember that a few hours ago, he’d leaned so close, buckling her seatbelt while his breath whispered across her cheek. She felt the loss of that moment acutely. Sy’s expression was hard to read in the dark, which thankfully meant he probably couldn’t read hers either.

  Almost in sync with each other, they opened their car doors and got out. When they reached the porch, Sy took the grocery bag while Amy fished her keys from the depths of her purse.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking the bag back from him. “Breakfast is at eight downstairs in the dining room. If you want it earlier, there’s a Whataburger up the road.”

  Without waiting for a response, Amy headed toward the kitchen, listening to his heavy footfalls on the creaking steps. It was weird thinking of being alone with him here, especially after the awkwardness of the night. Maybe he’d leave and stay at a motel. But she didn’t really want that either, and not just because Sy paying to rent out all the rooms helped her financially.

  After putting away the groceries, Amy fell into bed, still fully dressed, trying not to think about the man in the bedroom directly above hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Sy

  After a night of tossing and turning, the smell of bacon frying was the best kind of wake-up call. Sy groaned, stretching his arms overhead as he checked the clock on the bedside table. Not quite eight. Sy couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. Between morning practices and other football obligations, his body clock normally woke him around six thirty.

  But last night he struggled to sleep with his thoughts swirling around everything that happened the day before. He slipped on a pair of athletic shorts and a T-shirt before walking into the hall. The smell of bacon was even stronger out here and his stomach growled loudly.

  He made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He wasn’t going to see Amy for the first time today sporting morning breath. Even if he didn’t get close enough for her to notice. After last night, she seemed to want to keep her distance.

  Sy gripped the edge of the sink and stared at his reflection. He needed to shave, and his eyes had dark circles under them. He had always been the kind of guy who needed a lot of sleep. It clearly showed in his face this morning.

  But after the awkward disaster of dinner the night before, turning his brain off had been nearly impossible. He kept seeing the expression on Amy’s face when she walked out on the porch to see Delia practically climbing on him. The thought of Delia’s touch made him shudder.

  How things can change in a day. Sy blew into town thinking about Delia, and now the only woman on his mind was the one downstairs. And he needed to do some major repair work there. Plus figure out how to get her to not go on dates with other guys. Even thinking about Amy with other guys made him want to break things.

  The only thing he had going for him was Amy’s reaction to thinking Sy was into Delia. That meant she cared, right? But it was complicated. Would the fact that her sister had thrown herself at him be a deal-breaker?

  Sy passed the empty dining room and pushed open the swinging kitchen door, pausing to watch Amy before she noticed him. She stood at the counter off to the right, barefoot and with her hair in a low ponytail. Humming along to music, Amy’s hips swayed as she whisked eggs in a bowl.

  An ache formed in Sy’s chest. This moment was so simple, so real, so beautiful. He wanted ten thousand more moments like this one. He wanted to wake up to this sight every morning. He sucked in a breath.

  “I didn’t take you for a country fan.”

  Amy jumped, almost dropping the bowl. “Dang, Sy. Give a girl some warning next time.”

  He held up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s fine. And this isn’t country. It’s more Americana. Folk and bluegrass.”

  “There’s a difference?” He leaned a hip on the counter.

  Amy set the bowl on the counter and turned her attention to the bacon, which was sizzling in the pan. “They’re kind of cousins, I guess you could say. But I’m not really into country. Maybe old country and gospel. Not so much the new pop country. How about you? I seem to remember you as a Nickelback fan.” She smirked.

  Sy chuckled. “I guess I don’t have very sophisticated musical taste.”

  Amy laughed. “Are you saying you still like Nickelback? I need to get on Twitter and let them know they still have a fan!”

  Sy’s grin was immediate. Amy was teasing him, going back to how things were yesterday. Before dinner and before Delia. It gave him hope and made him bold. Stepping closer to her, Sy began singing a few lines of a popular Nickelback song from years before. Maybe from when they were in high school.

  His voice was gravelly and low this early in the morning, but maybe that was perfect. Because Amy’s face had softened into something that made Sy’s pulse race. Maybe there was hope that he could recover what ground he’d lost the night before.

  When he stopped singing, Amy blinked at him a few times before she recovered. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

  Sy backed away and took a seat at the kitchen island. “Not many people do. Let’s keep it between us, okay? I don’t want people knowing I’m a triple threat.”

  Amy gave him a teasing smile. “Triple threat, huh?”

  Sy counted on his fingers. “Football. Singing. And …”

  Now, Amy turned fully. “What’s the third?”

  “Huh. Guess it’s not math. Make me a double threat, then.”

  Amy giggled, and the sound curled around his heart. He knew that he needed to explain about the night before, to make sure Amy knew he wasn’t interested in Delia and that her attention was one-way. But he didn’t want to break up this easy rapport. Not yet.

  “Okay if I watch you make breakfast? Or is that against the rules of a bed-and-breakfast?
”

  “Usually the kitchen is a no-guest zone, hence the door. But since you rented out the whole place, you get special privileges.”

  “Like an all-access pass?”

  “Almost. Everywhere but my bedroom.” Her shoulders stiffened, and she giggled again. “Um, not that you’d try to go into my bedroom.”

  It shouldn’t have, but somehow the mention of her bedroom filled the kitchen with a totally different kind of tension. Amy’s cheeks flushed, and she turned her back to Sy, pulling out a cutting board and a few other items from the fridge. He searched for something to say but couldn’t drag his mind away from curiosity about her bedroom.

  He had looked at other rooms upstairs the day before and each had its own personality. What would Amy’s room reveal about her? For a brief moment, he could almost picture Amy, sleepy with tousled hair, tangled in a comforter in the soft light of morning.

  Sy swallowed hard.

  “What do you like in your omelets? You do like omelets, I hope.”

  “Love them. Pretty much everything. Except raw onions.” Sy made a face. “I really only like cooked onions, but even cooked they’re a little too … something for the morning.”

  “Aggressive. The flavor is a little too aggressive for morning.”

  He chuckled. “That’s a good way to put it. So, do you get your cooking skills from your mom?”

  Amy threw back her head and laughed. She had to set the knife down that she was using to chop mushrooms. “No, definitely not. Thankfully.”

  “Why? Dinner last night was great.”

  “It was. But that’s literally the only thing Mom makes. When we come to dinner, either Delia or I handle dinner, or Mom makes a roast. She’s a one-hit-wonder in the kitchen.”

  “Huh. How many hits do you have in the kitchen?”

  Amy smirked. “I’ve got a pretty solid best hits album.”

  “Will I get to taste any besides breakfast this week?”

  “We’re a bed-and-breakfast, not a bed and lunch or bed-and-dinner. I do usually have fresh cookies for snacks.”