Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book) by Reinhardt, Liz (knowledgeable books to read TXT) 📕

Unlike me, Remy didn't bother to change his clothes or wash off the blood, and I'm not sure he would have bothered except for the fact that my father doesn't put up with shenanigans about dinner manners. You come neat, dressed, and on your best behavior in his house.

"I gave her a song and dance. No reason to get her all worried. We were the knights in shining armor, in case she asks."

He leaves me hanging on purpose, the same smug face he always wore when we were just kids and he was dangling a toy he knew I wanted in front of me.

"Did you tell her about Evan? What did she say?" I'm surprised to see the gleeful look wipe off his face.

"I thought you'd ask what got me in the ring with the Murray brothers today." He leans a shoulder against the wall and zeros in on me.

Why didn't I ask him? I'm usually running like a fool, trying to figure out what makes Remy tick and why, I guess so I can try to analyze his next move. Which was always a pretty useless plan. You can't predict anarchy.

"I figured it out already. It's because you're a fucking idiot. What did Mama say about Evan?"

Remy's silent for two beats, enough time for me to see the confusion and disappointment roll across his face.

"She said, 'Not Lala?'. Then she said, 'Twenty minutes.' I think she's making szűz tekercsek. You know how into it she gets when she's making that." He backs out, smacking the edge of my door with the palm of his hand. "See you at the table."

His voice is ringed with an anticipation that makes my stomach queasy.

It's a long, anxious twenty minutes, and I know Benelli worked some kind of strong voodoo on our mother, because dinner waits for no man at her table. It's after six. I never in my life remember dinner starting after six. It's six straight up, and most nights every one of us is expected around the table, plus usually a handful or three of our closest relatives and family friends.

We're all seated when Benelli comes in, followed by Evan.

I almost knock my chair back when they walk in, and I feel like someone sucker-punched me in the throat.

My sister is a schemer, and the dress she put Evan in is this innocent soft yellow, light and sweet enough for our grandmother, never mind our mother, to approve of. But it's also made of some kind of fabric so lightweight, it clings to every one of her curves and makes her skin look even more touchably soft than it usually does.

I'm dying to skip this whole migraine-inducing dinner and take her to the beach, to the beach house, to my room, to my bed, to do whatever we want for however long we want, while my brother and all his bullshit rots in hell for all I care.

I pull the chair next to me out for her and let my hands furtively graze the sweet curves of her body as I push it in.

"You look amazing," I murmur for her ears alone. I watch the pink deepen around her cheekbones and the roots of her hair. When she's settled, I turn to the table. "Mama, Pop, this is Evan Lennox. My girlfriend."

Mama clanks the serving spoon she was holding into the dish with a little more force than necessary.

Evan looks each of my parents in the eye. "It's so nice to meet you both. Thank you for having me over on such short notice. I hope it wasn't an inconvenience."

She smoothes her napkin on her lap and graces everyone with a cool, collected smile.

Deep down, I want to fist pump with satisfaction. Evan knows exactly how to fight this battle, and she'll mutilate everyone in my family with her awesome manners.

Mama rushes to tell her that it was no trouble at all, and the tense first minutes get replaced by the usual food distribution flurry. I pour Evan some white wine, shipped over from my great-uncle's vineyard in Hungary. She takes a sip and smiles, and I feel a twinge of worry. She's so deep in character at this table, I have no idea if I can read anything she says or does accurately.

Does she like the wine, the food, my family, or is this all a cool, calm show worthy of one of my own performances?

My mouth goes dry.

It's like I'm living my worst nightmare. The passionate girl I'm so damn in love with is all of a sudden moved by the same marionette strings that dictate my every waking moment. She's playing a role as much as I always am, and it's because I brought her to a place where everyone is expected to play along.

"So, where did you meet my brother? I didn’t think Winch had any friends." My little sister Ithaca, the light-haired, green-eyed throwback rebel misfit of my little clan pipes up with an outrageously rude question that has my sister and my mother simultaneously shushing her.

Evan wipes her mouth and smiles, and, this time, I'm sure it's real. Or she's an even more amazing actor than I initially imagined.

"It's okay. Ithaca?" My sister nods like she's conducting a government interview. "I met your brother at community service. I'm a senior at St. Anne's School for Girls. I also live in Savannah, off of Ardsley Park, with my grandparents."

Ithaca raises an eyebrow. "You don’t live with your parents?"

My baby sister is old enough to know how to act, but being the spoiled youngest, she gets away with pretty much anything she wants, anytime she wants.

"Ithaca," I warn, reaching for Evan's hand under the table. She laces her fingers with mine and squeezes, but her eyes stay locked on my sister's.

"No. My mother moved to Mexico and my father has a gambling problem. So I live with my grandparents because they're the best people for me to be with right now." Evan keeps her eyes