Untitled Part 29

But instead of kissing me like I thought he would, he moved his head to the side and dropped his voice into a whisper meant just for my ears. "Scared people will think we're fuck buddies?"

I couldn't stop my lips from curling up into a smile that matched his. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

He pushed back off the wall and strolled into the kitchen, taking the frying pan from his mother's hand and kissing her on the cheek. "I'll take over the pancakes, Mum."

"You're such a darling, Brett," she replied, a thick British accent adding a musical element to her words.

If she only knew what he'd said moments before.

"Oh, and I invited Lexi to breakfast."

"Welcome." She moved to the sink and began washing off fruit. I hadn't expected her to be Indian, but now I saw where Brett got his dark coloring and insanely thick eyelashes from.

The twins raced past me, jostling the doll that was still in the carrier in my hands. "Flip them, flip them," their little voices chimed.

Brett lifted the pan off the burner, shook it a couple of times, and flipped the pancake in the air, catching it back in the pan with well-practiced ease. The twins cheered, followed by cries for him to do it again.

He caught my eye, silently asking if I was impressed.

Coming from a household where punching the microwave's buttons was the extent of any cooking demonstrations I'd seen, I had to concede that yes, I was impressed.

"So, are you going to stay for breakfast?" he asked as he slid the cooked pancake onto a plate and buttered the pan for the next one.

"Does it taste as good as it smells?"

"Better. I'll even add blueberries to yours."

"Okay, you talked me into staying." I wasn't going to turn down a home-cooked meal, especially when it included entertainment.

But as soon as I sat down, one of the twins flopped into my lap with a blue ribbon. "I'm Rapunzel, and I need you to braid my hair."

Brett remained focused on breakfast, but his lips twitched. He must have enjoyed watching someone else boss me around for a change.

Sarah rushed over to intervene. "I can do that, Bitsy."

How she could tell the twins apart was beyond me, but I wasn't going to back down from a challenge, especially in front of Brett. I handed Sarah the doll instead. "I can braid her hair, if you don't mind making sure the doll is someplace safe."

Heaven only knew what those twins would do to it if they got their paint-covered hands on it. It would make Brett's war paint look tame.

"I need you to braid it so I don't trip over it," Bitsy said, pretending hair was as long as the fairy tale character's.

"And when you're done with her, it's my turn," the other one demanded.

Brett shook with laughter at the stove.

I'd show him. "How about I braid the ribbon into your hair?"

That got met with a chorus of "ooohs," so I got to work. I may not be a fashionista who spent hours every morning perfecting my appearance, but I could braid hair. And thanks to Taylor making similar demands and a mom who was always too busy to do it, I'd gotten pretty good at it when we were younger. For a split second, I grew nostalgic for the time when my sister and I were still friends, when she looked up to me as her big sister instead of trying to deny that we were even related.

Bitsy's curls were a little challenging at first, but once I got them sorted out, I was able to weave the ribbon into her hair as I braided it, using the ends to tie it off when I was finished.

"My turn," the other twin said, shoving her sister out of my lap and crawling into the recently vacated spot. "I want you to do the same thing, but with a pink ribbon."

At least with the different-colored ribbons, I stood a chance of telling them apart. "And what's your name?"

"Evie." Unlike her sister, she sat very quietly like a prim and proper princess while I braided her hair.

I took the moment to lose myself in the mindless activity. It had been so long since I'd sat down with my own sister like this, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be a big sister and have fun. Now, I was constantly up against Taylor's "I'm a cheerleader" attitude and mediating the increasing arguments between her and Mom.

I was done with Evie's hair sooner than I wanted. Now that both little girls had their hair braided, they ran off into the den holding each other's hands and giggling.

Brett came to the table with two plates of pancakes. He set them down on the table and offered to help me up from my chair. "You're going to have to teach me how to do that."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised to learn Brett wanted to know how to braid hair. Maybe everyone was right—maybe he was perfect. I took his hand, and my skin tingled where his touched mine. An odd warmth filled my chest.  My gaze was locked with his, and before I realized what I was doing, I was nodding like a mindless twit.

Damn, he was good. No wonder half of Eastline was in love with him.

Brett's mom came to the table carrying more plates piled high with pancakes. "Breakfast, everyone."

Brett led me to the bench against the wall and slid into the space next to me. I could feel the warmth from his thigh radiating through his jeans into my own. The rest of his family gathered around the table in chairs.

Brett's dad was the last person to come into the kitchen. If Brett got his coloring from his mom, he got his height and build from his dad. Mr. Pederson was easily six-two with broad shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and pale blond hair. He looked like a Nordic model, which further piqued my curiosity about Brett's family.

He stopped and studied me. "Who's that?"

"Brett's friend, Lexi," his mother replied as though Brett had friends over all the time.

Breakfast started with the usual passing of the syrup, but once everyone had their pancakes prepped the way they liked them, everyone started eating.

Except me. The concept of a family gathered around a table for a meal was so foreign that I didn't know what to do.

Brett nudged me with his elbow, a large section already missing from his short stack. "I thought you were hungry."

"I am." I lifted the pancakes and peered between the layers. Steaming juice poured out from the plump blueberries and practically begged me to take a bite. "Just trying to make sure you haven't pranked me by putting hot sauce between them."

Sarah snickered from across the table. "I'll have to remember that."

"They're perfectly safe. I'll even sample them to prove it." He reached his fork toward my plate, but I blocked him.

"Hey, leave me something to eat." But it was now or never. I cut a small wedge out of my stack, put it in my mouth, and then lost every shred of self-control. They were awesome. I closed my eye and let the flavors sink into my taste buds. A soft moan broke free before I could stop it.

"Told you they were good," Brett murmured in my ear.

My body startled, sending the bite I had into the back of my throat and choking me. Oh, that was lovely. Here I was, not wanting people to know I was over at Brett's house, and I was going to choke to death at his breakfast table. A hand connected to my back, forcing the air from my lungs in a disgusting hack. Several coughs later, I was finally able to clear it. My cheeks burned once I finally was able to breathe again.

"You okay, Lexi?" Brett asked, genuine concern filling his dark eyes.

I nodded, not trusting what would come out of my mouth after a near-death experience. I reached for the glass of orange juice in front of me. Half a glass later, I was finally recovering from my embarrassment. "Fine."

He looked me over once more before returning to his meal. "So, whatcha planning on doing today?"

"Probably start filling out college applications," I replied. I really hadn't made any plans, but I knew those needed to be done soon.

"What schools are you looking at?" Brett's dad asked.

"Harvard, Yale, NYU, Duke—mostly stuff on the East Coast." I paused to take another bite, chewing it well and swallowing before I continued. "I was able to visit some of them over the summer with my dad, and I liked the feel of them. What about you, Brett?"

His dad answered for him. "Brett's waiting to see which schools offer him a football scholarship before deciding where he wants to go—isn't that right?"

I caught the slight frown from his mom and the grim smile from Brett as he answered, "Yeah, but it's still all up in the air. I mean, I don't have to decide anything yet, and I'm still waiting to see what all my options are."

Yep, this was definitely a tense issue in this family. I wondered if I should step in and change the subject, but his dad kept pushing it.

"Smart idea. Look how many calls you got this morning after last night's game."

Calls? This intrigued me. "I heard you broke some kind of record last night," I said.

"He broke the state's passing record for a single game," his father boasted, his chest puffed as though he'd been the one who broke the record and not his son.

"Erik, please," Brett's mom intervened, "this is not an appropriate conversation to have in front of our guest."

"You act like it's something to be ashamed of."

Brett's grip tightened on his fork, his knuckles blanching, but he said nothing. Suddenly, his life didn't seem so perfect. He was real, not some golden boy football god everyone revered. He had some serious issues going on beneath his perfect façade, and some hidden part of me finally felt a connection to him.

Which of course scared the shit out of me. I didn't want to care about Brett Pederson.