Homewrecker

47 - 𝓼𝓬𝓸𝓸𝓹𝓼

I felt the middle of my waffle cone beginning to curve underneath my fingers as the chocolate and strawberry twist ice cream turned the inside soggy, the neon rainbow sprinkles slipping down the melting slope carved by my tongue as I leaned against the hood of Ethan's crossover, my feet crossed at the ankles on the pavement decorated with chalk drawings and scribbled words.

According to the asphalt under one of Ethan's tire, Kyle was a word the rubber concealed. Ethan was beside me, with a vanilla and chocolate twist encased in a hardened chocolate coating and a cherry syrup sliding down the cone, actually sitting on his hood which I couldn't bring myself to do.

Andi and Taylor-Elise were still in Scoops!, after using the bathroom together—which was something other girls did I never understood—and through the storefront windows, painted with cartoon ice cream cones, I could see that they were standing at the counter now, debating ice cream flavors. Taylor-Elise has been hoping they had frozen yogurt.

When he pulled out of the police station parking lot, glancing in the rearview mirror to where I was sitting in the backseat, staring out the window and ignoring the occasional shift of their gazes, nothing but the engine and the sound of the tires against the ground filling the car.

Then, when it became apparent that he was headed back for Shelridge, I finally spoke up and asked if anyone wanted ice cream. I wasn't sure if any of them actually wanted some, but no one objected as Ethan looked around the car then nodded, letting me direct him to the Scoops! ice cream parlor about a mile away.

It was a little after nine at night, the sky totally darkened now and the lights from downtown obscuring the starlight from where we stood in the parking lot, against his crossover and waiting for Andi and Taylor-Elise inside. It still felt humid against my skin, although it had cooled somewhat in the ride over here, and whenever I breathed in, I wasn't sure what scent I was taking in but I kept expecting it to smell like pine and lake water.

"So, are you actually, like legitimately mad at me?"

I looked over to Ethan on the hood beside me, the first half of his ice cream now gone, and the chocolate coating has smeared on his bottom lip somewhat. I pointed to the inner corner of my lip, tapping the spot there until he realized what I meant and wiped a napkin over his mouth. "No," I told him. "Why, do you think I should be?"

He shook his head, crumpling the napkin in his hand. "I mean, I don't want you to be. But if you were, I'd get it. My mom leaked the investigation to the press, and I know that turned out to be a good thing, but she should've talked to you about it first. Or let you do it instead of just pulling a TMZ."

"Well, then it sounds I should be mad at your mom, not you."

"Yeah, but I'm her spawn," he said, a faint smile tugging on his lips. "And it was my idea to get her involved. So, if you take your blame very seriously, I'm probably the best candidate. But think over your answer carefully, I'm your ride home."

I widened my eyes. "You're right! This is all your fault. I want nothing to do with you anymore. Get," I said to him, sarcastically, shoving his shoulder closest to me, watching as he rolled his eyes, barely nudging underneath my palm. I thought for a moment, watching as he brought his ice cream cone back to his mouth then smacked the back of my hand against the bottom of his cone, laughing as ice cream smushed against his nose and the chocolate coating crumbled onto the hood underneath him.

"That's not okay," he told me, but underneath the marbling of vanilla and chocolate smeared across his mouth, I caught a glimpse of a smile. "I'm breathing in vanilla twist right now."

I licked my own ice cream triumphantly. "But look, with ice cream all over your face, you're about three percent less of a teen heartthrob. If you let me keep going, you'll be just a regular amount of attractive."

He wiped the napkin under his nose, shaking his head. "I'm not starting a food fight right now. I just want you to know that I really want to, but we're in front of my car."

I pulled out my phone from my back pocket, hearing Ethan mumble underneath the crumpled napkin that if I took a picture of him right then that all bets were off, which did make me briefly consider actually snapping one of him trying to subtly clean the ice cream out of his nostrils, when I noticed that Kingston had texted me again. Are you still in Shiloh? I stared down at the notification for another moment, twisting my lips together as I considered a response, if I even had to write him one. I could've left the message until the morning, then text him back that I hadn't seen it in time, sorry, another time okay. It wasn't that I didn't want to see Kingston—I kind of really did—but I wasn't alone, or just with Indie like I had been before. I was with Ethan, and Taylor-Elise and Andi. Shelridge kids. Rich kids. Plus, Kingston was already acting weird about Ethan, and I wasn't sure how that would look in real life, actually meeting him.

"What are you looking at?" Ethan asked, now completely cleaned of the ice cream and had resumed eating what was left of it, crunching on the chocolate coating.

"Kingston wants to know if I'm still in Shiloh. I told him earlier at the police station."

"So, why aren't you answering?"

"Because then I know he's going to want to meet up and it'll just be weird with everyone here. Andi met him, like, for two seconds and I'm pretty sure she already hates him."

He bit into the ice cream cone. "Let it be weird then. Who cares? He can't be your boyfriend if he never sees your sister."

"Don't call her that. Or him that. Stop with the labels, please," I groaned.

"I want to meet him. I want to know what kind of guy actually managed to crack your cold and distant exterior. One layered in a thick coating of brutal honesty, sprinkled with loathing sarcasm and topped with prejudice. I would like to give the man a trophy."

I shot him a look.

"Or maybe a hug," he conceded, and despite myself, I snorted. "I'll decide when I meet him. Text him. Tell him to come get come ice cream."

"How long does it take someone to choose an ice cream flavor?" I asked, turning to look back through the storefront windows of Scoops! in an attempt to change the subject but, of course, he never really fell for it. Instead, he grabbed the phone from my hand and started texting. "Hey," I scolded, although I didn't move to take it from him.

"Hopefully," he said, drawing out the words as he finished the text and sent it, handing the phone back to me, "it takes until he shows up."

I looked down at the screen then glared at him after reading what he sent.

This is Ethan. Bronwyn is too in love to answer right now, but she's at scoops if you're in the mood for ice cream . . . 😉

"You shoved ice cream up my nose," he told me, his defense already prepared as I started to smack him with the stack of napkins in between us on the hood.