Magnolia (10 page)

Too bad it won't last.

T
he fight started just minutes before we show up at the party on Saturday night. It's immediately obvious that Tanner is getting the best of Mason, who already has a black eye and a bloodied lip by the time Lucy, Morgan, and I make our way across the grassy field and push through the gawking crowd.

“What's going on?” I ask no one in particular, shouting to be heard over the ruckus.

“They were arguing about football, what else?” Jessica Addington says.

“You know, about the game with West Lafayette,” Rosie adds, stepping up beside me. “Ryder said something that made Tanner mad, and he totally lost his shit and tried to get Ryder to fight. Ryder refused and walked off. And then, I don't know,
Tanner called Ryder a pussy, and Mason flipped him off. . . .” She trails off, shaking her head.

“Next thing I know, Tanner went after Mason,” Jessica finishes for her. “Stupid football rivalry—makes the boys act like idiots.”

Jessica's on the cheerleading squad with us, and while I wouldn't call her one of my BFFs, we
are
friends. I'm pretty sure she's got a thing for Mason, which would explain the worry in her eyes when Tanner's fist makes contact with Mason's nose and blood gushes everywhere.

“Somebody
do
something!” she cries, glancing around wildly, her dark ponytail smacking me in the face.

“Ryder!” Rosie yells, her hands cupped around her mouth. “Where'd he go?”

I spot Patrick off to my right, moving toward the flying fists. “Tanner! That's enough, man.” He tugs ineffectually at the back of his collar in an effort to draw him off Mason's prone form, but Tanner just continues throwing punches.

I have to physically restrain Morgan from going to her twin's rescue. Tanner's totally out of control, and I don't want her to get hurt. I tighten my grip on her arm, my fingernails digging into her skin.

Finally, Ryder breaks through the crowd and steps into the fray. In a matter of seconds, he manages to pull Tanner off Mason and throw him to the ground a few feet away. He
stands over him, his hands clenched into fists. “What the hell's your problem, man?”

Tanner's half Ryder's size—he was crazy to pick a fight with him to begin with. Maybe he's thought better of it now, because he just lies there spent, panting.

Now that Tanner's been subdued, Morgan rushes toward her brother, kneeling beside him as she helps him to sit. Jessica hurries to his other side, handing him a wad of tissues.

“Asshole!” Mason calls out as he presses the tissues to his nose.

“You want more of this?” Tanner growls, but Ryder grabs him by one arm and drags him to his feet, pulling him away from the crowd. Ben follows behind.

Patrick appears beside me. “Hey, Jem.” He drapes an arm across my shoulders. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to show. You almost missed the excitement.”

“Is everyone going to just stand around and gawk, or is someone getting Mason some ice?” Lucy calls out.

Jessica rises and jogs over to the cooler under the pavilion and fills a bag with ice. “Here you go,” she says breathlessly when she returns.

I shrug out from under Patrick's arm and join the crowd gathered around Mason. He looks terrible. One eye is swollen shut and his nose—or maybe it's his lip?—is gushing blood.

“Your cousin's a real douchebag,” Morgan directs at me with a scowl.

I hold up both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, don't blame me! He's just a second cousin, anyway.”

Mason struggles to stand, but Morgan and Jessica press him back to the ground. “I'm fine,” he says, though he looks anything but.

“Just put the ice on your eye,” Jessica says. “Or maybe your nose. Wow, you're really bleeding. Anyone got a rag or something like that?”

We all look around helplessly.

“Maybe in my car,” Rosie says, rising. “I'll go see.” She hurries toward the line of cars parked off in the distance.

Just then, Ryder reappears. “Here,” he says, unbuttoning his plaid shirt to reveal a white T-shirt beneath it. In seconds, he's stripped off both shirts. He wads up the T-shirt and hands it to Morgan.

Morgan takes it with a nod. “Thanks. What'd you do with Tanner?”

“Ben's driving him home.”

I chance a glance in his direction and swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. Because let's face it, the sight of Ryder wearing nothing but jeans that ride low on his hips is pretty impressive. I mean, obviously I've seen him in less at the beach and whatnot, but there's something about those faded
jeans and the way the waistband dips low on his abdomen. . . .

Patrick must have noticed me staring, because he tightens his grip around my shoulders. “Hey, you wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure,” I say lazily. But as he leads me away, I can't help glancing back over my shoulder at Ryder, who's shrugging back into his plaid shirt, his fingers flying over the buttons.

I let out a sigh and turn back toward Patrick. “Where're we headed?”

“Right here is good,” he says, pressing me against the split-rail fence. As his head dips down toward mine I lay my palms flat against his chest.

“Wait.” I push against him, wanting to create some space between our bodies. The crowd isn't more than fifty yards away, and I feel exposed.

“What?” he asks, a hint of impatience in his voice. “You need a beer or something?”

“No, I'm fine.”

“I missed you, Jem,” he says, one hand sliding up my thigh, beneath the hem of my vintage red polka-dot halter dress.

I smack his hand away. “You saw me yesterday at school and later at the game.”

“You know what I mean.” His mouth moves toward mine, his breath warm against my cheek.

My mind is whirling, my heart thumping against my ribs.
There's something . . . I don't know . . . a little
dangerous
about Patrick. I want to run, but I'm somehow frozen in place like a deer in the crosshairs.

His lips find mine, and I suck in my breath sharply as his tongue skims over my teeth. I want to
feel
something, to have the earth move beneath my feet. But there's no butterflies fluttering in my stomach, no lightning skittering across my skin. Instead, I've overly aware of the mechanics of it all—lips, tongue, hands. He deepens the kiss, and I feel myself pulling away mentally even as I participate physically.

My mind begins to wander. I'm thirsty now, and I wonder what my friends are doing back over by the creek. We weren't planning on staying more than an hour or so, and it's probably been half that already. I want to check the time, but my cell is back with my purse. The tall grass tickles my ankles, and I shift my weight from foot to foot, resisting the urge to reach down and scratch.

He draws away, peering down at me sharply. “What's wrong?”

I have to think of some excuse, and fast. “It's just . . . You think Mason's okay?”

“He's fine. Seriously, you're worrying about that shit right now?”

I take a deep breath before speaking. “Well, we just left him lying there bleeding.”

“With half a dozen people tending to him, including his sister.”

“Yeah, but I came with Morgan. If she decides to take Mason home—”

“Then I'll drive you. Okay? C'mon, Jemma. Relax.”

I nod, glancing over at the crowd. The music is cranking now, and everyone's moved over to the covered pavilion where the piles of crawfish, corn, and potatoes have been dumped into plastic kiddie pools lined with newspaper.

Everyone except Ryder, that is. He's standing away from everyone else, his hands thrust into his pockets. I'm not positive, but I think he's looking right in my direction, watching Patrick and me.

Goose bumps rise on my skin, and I shiver.

“You cold?” Patrick asks.

I nod, even though I'm not. Still, it's as good an excuse as any. “I left my sweater under the pavilion with my bag.”

“Okay, okay. We'll go back. Looks like the food's out, anyway.” He reaches for my hand, and I let him lead me back to the party.

Mason's sitting on a picnic table beneath the pavilion, the bag of melted ice discarded on the table beside him. Jessica, Morgan, and Lucy surround him, chattering noisily over the music's din. I find my sweater and then hurry over to my friends.

“He keeps talking about this new quarterback they've got like he's the best thing since sliced bread,” Mason is saying, obviously rehashing the fight. “I mean, dude, give me a break. Ryder's the best in the state. I've had enough of his trash talk.”

Rosie steps up to the table, her cheeks flushed. “Hey, have any of y'all seen Ryder?”

“He's here somewhere,” Morgan says, glancing over her shoulder toward the spot where I'd seen him standing not fifteen minutes ago. It's empty now.

“Yeah,” Mason says. “I'm his ride home. Hey, didn't you say you needed a lift too, Jess?” Mason attempts a grin in Jessica's direction, but between his swollen eye and busted lip, it looks more like a grimace.

“There's no way I'm letting you drive,” Morgan says resolutely. “You might have a head injury or something, you moron. Lucy can take my car, and I'll drive yours. It's okay, Jess—I don't mind dropping you off.”

“Fine,” Mason mutters. “Whatever.”

Rosie plops herself down on the bench beside me. “Crap, I needed to ask Ryder something. Anyone know why he left so early? Did he take anyone with him?”

“No idea,” Morgan says, shaking his head.

I wonder what she wants with Ryder—and if those rumors I'd heard about the two of them hooking up are true. Not that it's any of my business, but still.

The thing is, Rosie's pretty—
really
pretty. Sure, she's dumb as a rock, but a lot of guys don't care about that. She could have her pick of cute boys, but instead she continues to pine away for Ryder. Quite obviously, I might add.

Sometimes I think about pulling her aside and telling her to have a little self-respect, but what's the point? She wouldn't listen. She doesn't like me very much, cousin or not. Besides, if the rumors about them hooking up are true, well . . . maybe there
is
something going on between them. How the heck would I know? And more important, why should I care?

Patrick reaches for my hand. “You wanna go dance?”

I shake off the thoughts of Ryder and Rosie. “Sure. C'mon, Luce.” I thump her on the shoulder.

“What am I, chopped liver?” Morgan asks with a frown.

“I thought you were too busy playing nursemaid.”

“Nah, I think Jess can take it from here.” She rises, tossing aside Ryder's now-bloodied T-shirt. “You'll take good care of him, right?”

Without waiting for Jessica's reply, she follows us out onto the packed earth behind the pavilion that's serving as a dance floor.

When I glance back, I see that Ryder has reappeared, standing beside Rosie. He leans down to say something in her ear, and she nods.

Patrick moves closer to me, blocking my view. He's one of
those guys who seems to think that jumping in place while pumping one's fists in the air somehow constitutes dancing. I only catch glimpses of Ryder leading Rosie to the dance floor between bobs of Patrick's head.

Curious, I turn my body slightly, angling away from him, trying to get a better view of Ryder and Rosie without being too obvious about it. Somehow, Ryder's eyes seem to meet mine across the crowd. I freeze, seemingly forgetting how to dance as I watch Rosie wrap her arms around Ryder's neck. His gaze leaves mine as his arms encircle Rosie's waist. She presses her cheek against his chest, and they start swaying back and forth, slow dancing.

To a fast song.
Ugh
.

When Patrick reaches for my hand and pulls me up against him, I let him. Anything to take my mind off what I just witnessed.