Chapter 3 New mission

We were all crammed into Lola's bedroom-me, Piper, Stella, and Lola herself-waiting for the tea to spill. It was one of those rare silences where everyone was too jittery to speak. Lola sat cross-legged on her bed, her eyes scanning ours like she was preparing to recite some ancient incantation. Honestly, it felt like a ritual.

"So... do all of you know who Roman is?" Lola asked. "Did I already tell you about him?"

"Yes, for the hundredth time!" I said, practically shouting. "Now who is mystery boy?!"

"Alright, alright. Chill, Eva," she said, her hands raised in surrender. "His name is Sam Hutchins. He came to our school with his cousin-Roman Carter. Apparently, Sam's parents died in a car crash. Roman's mom-his aunt-is also his godmother, so she got custody."

Sam Hutchins.

Poor Juice Boy.

My fingers brushed through my hazel hair as I let it sink in. That changed things. Not everything, but a little.

"That's... really sad," Stella said softly, breaking the silence.

"Poor guy," Piper murmured, shaking her head. Her dark curls bounced gently with the motion.

"My parents go to the same community group as Mrs. Carter," Lola explained. "They're pretty close. I overheard them talking about Sam when I walked in during dinner one night."

I stared down at the peach blanket beneath me, my thoughts swirling. Then, an idea sparked in my head-one that smelled like vanilla and chocolate chips.

-Later-

"Knock on the door," I hissed to Lola, my hands full with a heavy tray of chocolate chip cookies-almost a hundred, all made with love and vengeance.

Lola's glittery pink nails hovered over the wooden door of the Carter house but refused to touch it.

I groaned. "Ugh, give me that," I said, shoving the tray into her arms. "Time for those flashy nails to earn their keep."

I rapped hard on the door. The knock echoed against the solid wood and its little triangular glass window. It left my knuckles aching.

Suddenly, a creak echoed from above, and then a shout-"Now!"

SPLASH.

Freezing water drenched us head to toe. I squealed, gasping as cold seeped through every layer.

Footsteps thundered down the stairs. The front door swung open. And there stood Sam and Roman, grinning like little devils.

Until they realized who we were.

Sam's eyes widened. "Shit."

His white T-shirt clung to his chest, and his red-and-black plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips. His dark brown hair was messy and free of the usual leather jacket. I was freezing, furious, and-annoyingly-still noticing how attractive he looked.

I tilted my head, squeezing water from my hair. "Wow. Your apologies are just as bad as your aim."

For some reason, I didn't feel like strangling him this time. Progress?

"Sorry," Roman muttered behind him. He leaned casually against the stairway wall, arms crossed over his chest. His fitted grey T-shirt stretched across his broad frame, paired with loose navy jeans. His short curly brown hair was damp with sweat-or from watching too much chaos. His sharp grey eyes watched me like I was a puzzle.

"Maybe you both need glasses," I snapped. "Or functioning brains."

I yanked the tray of now soggy cookies from Lola and shoved it into Roman's arms. "These were for you. Congrats. Enjoy the mush."

Roman fumbled with the tray but managed not to drop it. I turned to grab Lola's arm-because she was still frozen like a statue-when Sam called after us.

"Wait. Come in. Dry off. It's the least we can do."

It might've been the dumbest decision of the week, but I nodded. Honestly, we were already halfway to popsicles. If they wanted to murder us, now was their shot.

We stepped inside, and Roman shut the door behind us. Sam bolted up the stairs, leaving me and Lola dripping on their entryway rug.

"You talk?" Roman asked, turning to Lola like she was some kind of mystery creature.

She blinked, startled. "I-I do. I just... don't have much to say."

She fiddled with the sleeve of her pink faux-sherpa hoodie, which matched the soft strawberry-blonde waves on her head.

"You scared of me or something?" Roman smirked, puffing his chest just a little.

Lola looked like she might say something, but then-thump-thump-thump-Sam came down the stairs carrying two enormous fluffy towels.

They looked like clouds from heaven.

I snatched mine gratefully. "Thanks," I muttered, wrapping myself up like a burrito.

Lola took hers more gracefully, still looking mildly stunned by Roman's interrogation.

Sam led us into the living room, and I finally took in the space. Cream-colored walls, soft brown furniture, built-in wood shelves lined with hardcover books and random knickknacks. A flat-screen TV was mounted above a minimalistic fireplace, and two cozy couches framed a glass coffee table.

"Wow," I breathed. "Your living room is... perfect."

Sam chuckled. "Thanks, I guess."

Roman flopped into a corner of the couch while I sat beside Lola.

"So," Lola started-way too casually-"did you two have anything to do with the picture on Eva's locker today?"

Roman blinked. "What picture?"

He looked at Sam, who sat upright at the mention of it. His expression shifted instantly.

"Max... That bastard!" Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I told him to delete it. I swear I didn't post anything. I'm so sorry, Eva."

His eyes were sincere. I could feel my anger fizzling under his gaze.

"It's okay," I said, relaxing into the couch. Sam's energy-chaotic as it was-had this weird effect. Calming. Disarming.

"Let's get him back," Lola said suddenly, grinning with mischief.

Just like that, the mood flipped.

"I'm in," Roman said without hesitation, his smirk sharpening.

I turned to Sam. "What about you?"

He smiled wide, brown hair falling into his eyes. "Definitely."

"Then count me in," I replied.

And just like that, we had a new mission.

Max Stewart wouldn't know what hit him.