Free Trouble from the Start by Rachel Hawthorne Page B

before me? Probably skipped school after he ended up with my sweet tea on his head.
    I entered through the front door and was assailed by the aroma of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. I detoured into the kitchen, coming up short at the sight of Fletcher, wearing a milk mustache, sitting on a stool at the island counter.
    â€œAvery!” Tyler shouted, nearly tumbling off the stool beside Fletcher to come around and give me a hug, leaving cookie crumbs on my jeans. When he’d first come to us, he hadn’t known what a hug was, flinched anytime arms went up as though he expected to get hit. Now he gave the best hugs.
    â€œHey, hon,” Mom said. “Come join us for some warm cookies and milk.”
    I shifted my attention back to Fletcher. He’d apparently taken a napkin to his mouth while I was distracted with Tyler. “No, thanks. I just wanted to let you know I was home.”
    â€œAs though I wouldn’t know that with all the noise that old clunker makes,” she said with a smile.
    But I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Trooper gets me where I need to be.”
    â€œTrooper?” Fletcher asked.
    Ignoring him, I said, “I’m going for a run.”
    Before Mom could get after me for my rudeness, I turned on my heel and headed through the doorway. I heard Tyler explaining to Fletcher that Trooper was the name I’d given my car. It seemed the bad boy was charming everyone in the family. I refused to admit that he’d looked adorable with the white mustache.
    In my bedroom, I slung my backpack onto my bed. I was so tense that I could have screamed. I changed into shorts, a tank, and my running shoes. After pulling my hair back into a ponytail, I slipped on a Texas Astros cap. With my iPhone nestled in an armband, I tucked the earbuds into my ears and headed out through the front door.
    Fletcher was standing near the garage and immediately began striding toward me. Guess he’d had his fill of cookies. “We need to talk.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” Normally I stretched out here. Should have done it on the deck or in the backyard. I started out at a jog.
    Fletcher, in boots, loped beside me. “Come on.”
    Reaching out, he grabbed my arm. I wrenched free, jerked the earbuds loose, and jogged in place. “Don’t touch me.”
    â€œLook, I know you’re mad—”
    â€œYou don’t know anything about me. Let’s keep it that way.”
    I headed off again, my feet pounding the pavement. I could hear the echo of Fletcher’s biker boots thumping along beside me. I glanced over. “You are not running with me.”
    â€œI want to explain.”
    â€œThere’s nothing to explain. I know about the bet, I know what you told everyone. You think you’re important, that you have something to prove. All you did was ruin my reputation. And for what? To be the big man of the hour? You’re just small.” I lengthened my stride, quickened my pace, and left him in the dust.
    I heard his steps slow and fade. I went faster, taking satisfaction in the knowledge that he couldn’t keep up with me. I wanted as much distance between us as possible. I thought he’d been nice, looking after me at the party, offering me a ride. He’d just been using me to make money, to prove that no girl was immune to his charms. I felt like such an idiot.
    I raced around a curve in the path that led through a stretch of green that intersected the neighborhood. Trees grew tall on either side, the branches forming an arbor that provided shade and warded off the sun. My parents were like the trees, always trying to protect me, but they couldn’t protect me from everything. Sure, I could tell Dadabout the bet, then Fletcher would be gone, but I was a little old to be tattling, to be expecting my father to take care of matters that I could just as easily take care of.
    I was graduating from high school, going to