I stay talking to Annie and Mac for a while to delay going to Kitten's house, and not because I have to apologize if I don't want Pops to kick me out of the house, which he might. My dad loves Jimmy and me more than anything, but he's not one to take bullshit.

My unease has more to do with Annie's words. Kitten and I have never talked face to face. What I know about her comes from rumors and assumptions. What if others know things I don't?

I finish putting away some more tools that arrived this morning, wash my hands, and exit the garage under my dad's scrutiny. We've been working side by side for the last hour, but he glanced at his watch more than twice, which is his way to tell me I have things to do.

The old truck I've seen next to the haunted house isn't there anymore. I'm relieved Kitten's alone — talking to her mother isn't on the list of things I want to do. I haven't met her yet, but the woman has a permanent scowl on her face whenever my eyes land on her.

I climb the steps of Kitten's porch and press the doorbell. It echoes through the house, and the sound of footsteps reaches me.

The door opens. Kitten's on the other side of it, wearing the same baggy clothes.

As soon as she sees it's me, she tries to close the door in my face, but I put my boot-clad foot between the door and the doorframe, and Kitten rolls her eyes and steps aside to let me into the house.

"What do you want, O'Brien? If you're here to harass me further, do it fast and go away. I'm too tired to deal with you."

None of my smartass remarks leave my mouth. I finally study the chick.

She's thin. I see it even though she's hiding behind all that fabric. Her skin's fair, and her eyes are a mix of gray and blue, big and framed with long lashes. Although Kitten's hair is gathered in a bun, and only a few strands are loose, I can tell it's long. She's beautiful. Way prettier than Bella or any chick I've fucked, but that's not why I'm standing in her crappy house.

"I want to apologize," I say. "I was an ass to you earlier; I'm sorry. I say stuff without thinking, and I shouldn't have done that."

Kitten rolls her eyes. "No shit, Sherlock. Okay, you've said it, now go."

I look at my feet and then at her. "No. I'm also here to invite you to the barbecue in our yard tomorrow because my dad opened his motorbike repair shop. It's a celebration for everyone in town. We'll have food and music and— "

Kitten chews on her lip, avoiding my eyes. "Why would I go there? To let you insult me some more and allow you to make me feel ridiculous?"

"I said I'm sorry."

"Are you, though? Or are you doing it because your dad will kick your ass again otherwise?"

My cheeks flush. She saw what happened in my room. That shit's embarrassing; it makes me feel as if I were a kid instead of a grown-ass man. Maybe Pops is right, and I don't act like an adult. Fuck this shit.

"Yeah, my dad told me to invite you, but I know I fucked up, okay? I was teasing you. I didn't mean to insult you."

Kitten sighs. "If only, O'Brien. You're no different from the bullies at school. They say I get my clothes from Goodwill; you say I buy them at Virgins'R'Us. It's all the same. I should be used to this."

"I'm not a bully," I say. "I was just talking shit to get a reaction from you."

Kitten rolls her eyes and then shrugs. "Okay. You've succeeded. Anything else?"

"Will you come?"

"I don't know, O'Brien. It's not like I know you, your family, or anyone in town. I'll feel out of place there. I'm not sure it's a good idea."

"Well, Annie's coming."

Kitten squints at me. "How do you know her?"

"She's my best friend's girl and a close friend of mine."

Kitten sighs and mutters, "Of course."

I'm running out of things to say to convince her. It's way harder than I thought it'd be. Kitten does have claws, and I suspect she shows them with me more than she does with Ferdinand or those bullies she mentioned. What's worse, her stomach grumbles in the silence that stretches between us. What if Annie's right and the chick's starving?

My eyes roam the room. The furniture's old, and the walls are bare. There are no photos or flowers, nothing to make the shit look cozy or pretty. Kitten's place reminds me of Mac's house when the guy was fifteen, and his alcoholic mother was alive. Mac had to do his laundry and cook his food, but his mother spent her wages on booze and drugs, which meant Mac was hungry more often than not.

My parents made sure Mac stayed with us as often as possible and was well-fed and cared for. After all, he was a kid, and Mom always says if a kid's in need, it doesn't matter whose son or daughter they are.

Kitten pulls me out of my thoughts and nods toward the door. "Go, Brian. I'll think about what you told me. My mother will be home soon, and I'd rather she didn't see you here."

"She's not a fan, huh?" I say with a smirk, staring at the worn-out carpet beneath my feet.

Kitten whispers, "No, she's not, and neither am I."

The words sting for some reason I have yet to understand.

I nod and open the front door. Then, I'm out.

As I walk home, I continue thinking about everything - the strange chick, her attitude, and her mother. I also realize something: Kitten called me Brian for the first time.

I would've gone on thinking about that shit, but a sleek sports car parked next to Fat Boy catches my eye.

I rush to the house. My dad's standing on the porch with Jimmy by his side.

"Little fucker." Jim grins and makes a few steps toward me. The dude squeezes the air out of my lungs as he hugs me. I'm as tall as Jim, but the fucker is stronger.

"Hey," I say and slap his back. "Why the fuck didn't you tell us you were coming?"

Jim shrugs. "Didn't want you to make a fuss about it. I make plans, and then some shit comes up, and you get upset I can't make it."

"Are you gonna stay for the celebration tomorrow?"

Jim glances at Pops and smiles. "Sure thing. I wouldn't miss it. Dad was gonna show me the business. Let's go?"

I nod and hug Jim's shoulders as we stroll to Dad's repair shop. Jim enters the garage and nods in appreciation at what surrounds him, smiling at the photos on the walls.

"You have to give me a poster to hang in my room," I say to my brother.

He rolls his bright green eyes he inherited from our mom. "Why would you wanna stare at my ugly face, little bro?"

I chuckle. Jim's one handsome fucker; always has been. My brother doesn't know what acne is. Even when we were younger, he had the looks. Chicks were willing to take off their panties as soon as he sat on a log in The Temple with his guitar in his hands.

Now that he's famous, things are crazy. Jimmy's still the same, but his life isn't, and he isn't happy about it. He hates seeing his name in the tabloids. Our dad never buys that shit because Jim tells him not to trust anything he reads. My brother says if something worth mentioning happens, he'll be the one to tell us all about it.

"Do you need anything else?" Jimmy asks Dad.

Pops shakes his head. "All's good, Son. We already have clients. Brian and I will start working after the celebration. Are you hungry?"

Jim shrugs, smiling, and Pops nods toward the house. "Let's go. Your mom's on her way. We'll have dinner as a family."

I follow my dad and my brother, who are speaking quietly about something. I know the look on Jim's face—he needs advice, and Pops has always been his person. I am, too, but it's different with Dad. I'm sure they'll sit on the porch with a bottle of some shit when the sun sets and have a man-to-man convo.

Jimmy and Dad enter the house. I halt on the porch because Kitten's looking out of her kitchen window. She hides as soon as she sees me, and for the first time, I wish she didn't.