Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

I WAKE up to two missed calls and a dozen texts from Charleigh, the last one saying she’s on her way.

Last night is still fresh in my thoughts, likely because I obsessed about it for hours before texting Charleigh and asking her to come get me and finally falling asleep.

Before moving to sit up, I wrap my hair into a knot that I know is accompanied by a halo of fuzzies since it air dried without any product. My mouth feels dry and gross from only having my finger to brush with, and my clothes all feel slightly stretched and worn from wearing them consecutive days. Clean underwear is officially at the top of my to-do list for when I get home as I stand up and hobble around the bed, working to straighten the duvet, though I’ll need to wash the sheets.

“Hey, Lo, how are you feeling?” Kash is standing at the stove, a large bag of instant pancake mix beside him, confirming King isn’t up yet. Summer turns from where she’s perched at the island. A book of pictures sits in front of her with a rainbow of sticky notes protruding from the pages.

“Pretty good, actually. The swelling’s gone down a lot.”

“How’s the burn?” Summer asks.

“It’s not bad. That cream is amazing.”

“She’s a good liar,” Summer says teasingly as she looks to Kash. She takes a drink of her coffee before shooting me a smile.

While mine is smaller than hers, I return the gesture.

“Do you want to make a list of things you want and I can run by your place and get them?”

I question if she’s offering out of guilt or concern that Kash is still upset with her, even though it was my own decision to go down the ramp. Either way, her face only holds compassion. “That’s okay—”

“Why didn’t you wake King up, Dad?”

Mercedes stumbles into the kitchen, her hair looking similar to how I’m sure my own looks currently. Her eyes are still puffy with sleep, and her voice extra whiny.

“They’re pancakes. They all taste the same,” Kash says dismissively.

“Wrong.” King’s single word is like a small firework going off, lighting the entire house, creating more beauty, emitting bright colors, and making me fear for my personal safety.

Kash rolls his eyes and returns to the stove, but Summer’s attention has completely left her book. She’s staring between King and me as though she was present for our conversation last night. Maybe he told her?

“Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get you some ice packs and pancakes, Lo,” Kash offers.

I’m grateful to move my attention back to him. “That’s okay, Charleigh’s on the way.”

“Right … Charleigh,” King says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

I’ve been told before that the expression I’m giving King—with my eyebrows raised and my eyes wide—is condescending, and for once, I really hope it is.

“Are you still coming tomorrow to watch Daddy?” Mercedes’ word choice makes me flinch slightly, but I still smile in confirmation.

“Yeah, crutches and all.”

“Are you bringing Charlie?” Summer’s voice is cautious and far quieter than her usual tone.

The doorbell rings before I can reply. King tilts his head, the outside corners of his eyes strain as he stares at me. Then he moves purposefully toward the front door and swings it open. As I walk up behind him far more slowly with my crutches, I notice his rigid shoulders fall slightly.

“Hi. Is Lauren here by chance? I think I’m at the right place. She said it was out in the middle of nowhere, but this place is really in the middle of bloody nowhere.”

My lips tip up and down like a see-saw as I work to fight my laughter at King’s reaction. He’s staring at her with such intensity I can tell she’s confused.

“You have neighbors, right? Or mates? Someone nearby in case I scream? Cause you’re kind of freaking me out.”

“Hey, Charleigh.” I step up beside King and grab my bag that I deposited by the door last night.

“You really did get all banged up, didn’t you?” Her eyes leave King and travel over me. There’s little to be seen since my clothes cover most of the damage, and the Ace bandage covers the rest.

“Are you concerned about the stairs? Or is that just me?” she asks, the lilt in her voice a refreshing song, promising me the comforts of my own house.

“I’ll be okay.”

Charleigh’s eyebrows go up, and they stay stretched as she lets out a deep sigh. “Alright, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait! I want to meet Charlie!” Summer’s voice is right behind us. I turn because I want to see the look of surprise on her face as well when she realizes the error.

I take a step back and extend my hand to Charleigh. “Charleigh, this is Kingston, Summer, and Kashton. Everyone, this is Charleigh.”

“And me!” Mercedes calls, sprinting in from the kitchen. “Hey, Charleigh!” She smiles brightly, and I notice King, Kash, and Summer all look at her with surprise. Clearly they never considered asking Mercedes if she knew anything about Charleigh. She doesn’t know much, only a few stories that I’ve shared with her, but still, they would have known she was only a friend, and a female at that.

“It’s really great to finally meet you, Charleigh. We’ve heard a lot about you and it’s nice to put a … face to the name.” Summer elbows King in the gut. The move is subtle, nearly undetectable, but King releases a huff to validate it happened.

They have been talking about me.

King finally turns to me, his lips are pursed, his eyes bright with humor and something else that has him digging for his phone.

“I’ve heard loads about all of you as well. Though, I sort of knew what you all looked like.”

“You did?” Summer’s question makes the muscles between my eyes clench tighter. Leave it to Charleigh to reveal everything—to everyone.

“Sure,” Charleigh replies, unaffected. “Haven’t you seen her sketches? She draws nearly everyone she meets. It’s amazing and awful, really.”

“You’ve drawn me? I want to see! Do you have them here?” Summer’s voice is higher, her eyes brighter.

“Easy there. Don’t you have enough pictures of yourself?” King teases. He releases the door handle and takes a step back, opening the doorway.

“Not a hand-drawn one!” Summer’s response isn’t defensive or teasing. I know that if I don’t bring one over, she will never drop it, likely because it’s not the drawings of her she is interested in, but the few of Kash that I’ve done. I will have to dig through my notepads and bring a couple for her.

“I’ll bring some over next week,” I say, nodding forward, indicating to Charleigh it’s time to go.

“It’s really nice to meet you, Charleigh!” Summer chimes.

“You as well.”

“We’ll see you guys tomorrow!” Mercedes calls.

“Definitely,” Charleigh says with a nod.

“Thanks for the care and help. Sorry again for being such a klutz.”

“I’m thinking it was for the better,” King says, a knowing smile spreading wider across his face.

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then. Thanks for the night off.”

“I told you at the hospital it wasn’t a big deal. It’s still not a big deal. If you want next week off, just let me know. Or we can come get you and take you home. It’s your call,” Kash explains.

I give a small smile filled with appreciation and move to Mercedes. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’ll text you later.”

“Sounds good.” With that I move forward, shooting Charleigh a look to tell her to get moving.

“Who put a bee in your bonnet?” My eyes are wide as they wait for Charleigh to glance in my direction. “What?” Her voice is alarmed, genuinely surprised by my look that is intended to say you know why.

“You told them I draw them!” I hiss.

“You do draw them!” she exclaims. “Besides, I told them you draw everyone. Really, Lauren, you need to stop hanging around me and this angsty kid so much. Americans are supposed to be smiley and happy about nothing, and you’re rarely happy about anything. It’s not normal.”

She doesn’t look at me as we approach her car. It’s probably best that she isn’t because her words serve to do nothing more than remind me of what I’ve been told for most of my life: I’m different.

“Sorry I had to call you. I know you were out on a date last night. I hope I didn’t make you cut it short.”

Her face radiates with a smile as she maneuvers her car into drive and starts heading down the long driveway.

“I’m taking that look to say the date went well. What’s he like?”

Charleigh’s shoulders shrug like she’s trying to remain indifferent, but her lips are pulling up at the corners as though she’s stuffed the last piece of candy in her mouth. I don’t push her for details. As much as I enjoy Charleigh, and like being around her, it’s been clear to me since our friendship began that Allie is her confidant, the one that keeps her centered, her best friend. I try really hard to not be hurt by this since both of them are so accepting of me, and I know genuinely enjoy our time together; it just stings when moments like these occur.

GETTING READY with crutches reminds me of how blessed I am to have been healthy for most of my life, regardless of being too tall and lanky.

Charleigh and Allie knock on my door thirty minutes early with matching faces of concern about me going down the stairs with my crutches. I assure them a half dozen times that I’ll be fine before they stop encouraging me to go down on my hands and butt like a toddler. I’m on the last landing when the Suburban pulls up and King jumps out of the back with a similar expression.

“Lo, let King help you!” Parker yells from the driver’s window.

“I’ve got it!” I yell back, my focus remaining on the stairs with determination.

King stops a few steps short from me, his chin twists, and the look of indecision mars his brows before he takes a step back, closer to the railing. He keeps pace with me, his hands precariously close to reaching out to me, though he never does.

I don’t object when he opens the door, though my pride wants to, regardless of how inconsequential it seems. Before I get in, I turn to ensure Allie and Charleigh are still with us and go through a brief introduction before lifting myself into the car and watching King take my crutches around back to the trunk.

The girls are both restless, their smiles wide. I can tell they’re excited to be riding with Parker and King, and while I hadn’t been able to see their expressions when they arrived, I continuously notice them both looking from him and me and then to each other. It’s worse than high school.

“This is crazy!” Allie says with a happy sigh. Her eyes are dancing over every exposed chest and bicep painted in tattoos. “I’m in heaven.”

Parker laughs loudly only a few inches from her shoulder, sending her hand to her chest in surprise, leading his eyes to crinkle with an even deeper, heartier laugh. He leads us through crowds and teams that are gathered, discussing strategies and triple-checking everything with the bikes. I’m thankful we’re inside because I can’t imagine navigating through the Oregon mud, but even indoors is proving to be difficult with the large number of people.

I’m trying to focus on watching the event. Parts of my mind are even mystified, making my jaw drop and my eyes grow wide, though most of my thoughts are preoccupied with trying to understand King, and working to recall every minute detail of last night. Did I imagine the way lust danced in his eyes when he told me he was tempted to do something that would make me want to slap him? He did say that … right? Between my painkillers and his obvious drinking, maybe neither one of us can clearly recall what transpired last night. I thought we did when he arrived and was so valiantly ready to assist me with getting into the car, but now he’s several seats and people away from me, and his attention hasn’t veered from the stadium once. I know, because I’ve been staring at him so hard everyone between us has looked over at me at least a few times.

A throat clears from behind me, getting louder as they lean in close. “Take it easy. This is his passion. King belongs out there. He isn’t ignoring you; he’s just lost in his other world right now.” I look back at Summer and she gives me a small smile, her lips pressed together with both apology and comfort, and I’m pretty sure it isn’t all for King ignoring me.

I try to hide the vast relief her words impart on me, but her growing grin confirms it’s apparent. This crush that I’ve had on King since a night that was laden with flirting, revelations of each other, and eventually a shared intimacy that I haven’t been able to shake—or willing to move past—has torn off every cover I’ve tried to bury it under, revealing my feelings have been much larger than a mere crush for months, maybe since that very night if that’s possible.

Her assurance grants me the ability to see the athletes more closely. I watch and listen as tricks and maneuvers are completed that stun me into silence. I am lost as I watch the joy and love for their craft pass over each of their faces, and absorb each expression as they finish. Though each is different, some filled with regret, others with pride, and a few with disappointment, I recognize the same fuel of energy and passion. Some have performed several times now in different events, allowing me to recognize their faces and expressions to where I know I’ll be drawing them for days to come.

“Want some paper?” Charleigh reaches forward as she asks, gripping my bag before I can reply. She hands me a pad and a handful of charcoal pieces that I select two from before depositing the remaining pieces back to the bottom. She gives me a smile and then turns, gifting me with the attention to move forth and draw.

I sketch expressions of hopefulness, failure, excitement, anger, blissfulness, and camaraderie before I delve into the bikes and pedals, the irregular angles of their bodies, and gravity-defying stunts. Eventually, I stop drawing faces and simply draw figures, shades, and movements that equal each of the expressions I started with.

Summer’s foot knocks against my chair, breaking me from my trance, and I hear the rustling of seats and greetings and turn to see Mercedes, accompanied by an older man who I recognize from his acknowledgments and waves that are directed my way a few times a week now: the man from the green house.

“Hey, Lo!” Mercedes’ greeting doesn’t divert my attention from staring at the man, wondering who he is, and how he fits into this picture.

His face warms with a smile that doesn’t hide his amusement. “Nice to see you here, Lo,” he says with a nod.

I blink several times, biting my tongue to tell him how strange it is to see him here of all places, since he obviously knows everyone, making a statement like that borderline rude. My eyes widen several times as different questions and things to respond with cross my mind.

“Lo, you know Robert?” I’m thankful to turn my attention away from the man and look to Summer.

“Sort of.” I sound less sure of my words than the time I got caught sneaking out of my room in the middle of the night by Alan, Nell’s husband and my father’s right-hand man. That time I had been dressed, makeup done, shoes carefully gripped in my fingers so I could make as little noise as possible, and still I smiled at him without a trace of guilt or fear. At least initially I had.

“She walks by the house on her way to the bus stop,” Robert explains. “The first day she passed by my house a dozen times before I finally asked the poor thing where she was headed and what do you know, she was lookin’ for the Knight residence.” His eyes are bright and smiling as though he’s sharing a joke. “I knew as soon as I saw her that my granddaughter would like her. She’s got spunk.”

Granddaughter? She’s Mercedes’ grandfather? King and Kash’s dad?

“I had no idea you were…”

“Of course you didn’t. How would you?” I can’t tell if Robert is teasing me or eluding to the fact that if I had taken the time to ask a few questions, I would have. “That’s what made me like you even more. You’re a smart girl.”

“Wait until you see her draw. How are you, Robert?” I take a step back, angling my body so I can see both King and Robert. “It’s been a few weeks. Every time I try to track you down, you’re out. Up to some new shenanigans?” King draws out the word.

Robert’s head falls back as he laughs. The gesture is familiar; he’s done this a few times when I’ve spoken to him. It makes me wonder if this is his genuine laugh, or if it’s a façade for both of us. “I just keep ignoring you, waiting until I see your bike turn up.”

King’s eyes tighten. I’m not the only one who notices, because Robert’s eyebrows rise and he nods, confirming something that the two seem aware of while the rest of the group remains oblivious.

An introduction for Kash has us all sitting back in our seats, our attention shifting to the center of the concrete stadium. I have no idea who Kash is talking to as I catch sight of him before walking his bike forward. I’m curious to know why King, Parker, and Summer aren’t down there but fear my question is rudimentary and ignore it. The movement of Kash shaking out his left hand catches my eye. I’ve seen him do this before but don’t realize it until now. He wraps it around his handlebars and then does the same with his right hand before he glides onto his bike and kicks off. Many of the contestants seem to have a pattern, one which involves searching the crowds until they find their support group, as if reliant upon their encouragement. Kash never does.

My heart is in my throat as I watch his routine, transfixed by each of his movements. The more I continue to watch this sport, the more beauty I find in it. The connection, respect, and love between a rider and their bike nearly make me forget that it’s an inanimate object.

We’re all screaming and clapping as he rounds the edge of the jump with a finish. It’s then that his eyes find us, and his smile goes from bliss—to elation.

“YOU HOLD a brush a lot different from your pencils.”

People have been in and out of the shop all day, each stopping to chat with me and take in my work. I loathe people looking at the initial sketch. It’s a shell, an idea that I can’t fully translate until I’m able to add color and design, something I can’t do on this large of a scale with a pencil. I just started adding color, and there isn’t enough for attention to be welcomed. This is, however, the first time in two weeks since I’ve seen King. I accepted Kash’s offer to take last week off after he said he would appreciate having a reason to stay away from work and hang out with Mercedes, and the last three days of this week, King has been absent. I’ve been working to convince myself it isn’t suspicious. I was tempted to text him, debating on a joke or sarcastic remark that I knew would make him laugh, but all of them seemed like I was checking in, which is exactly what any of them would have been.

I look back at him as I dip my brush back into the black paint. I want to play this cool. I want to show him that if he has decided to regret his previous drunken admission, I am willing to let it pass as well. At least, I will try really hard to pretend that I have.

“I hold charcoals with all of my fingers because it allows more movement. I can use my shoulder and elbow, not just my wrist. I can do the same with paints on certain surfaces, but not on a wall like this. The texture makes it difficult. You have to be a lot more forgiving and try not to focus on adding too many details.”

“Who taught you to do this?”

“I’ve always loved art. I’ve been told I used to paint with my food.” I smile, and my shoulder lifts. “But I think every kid does that.” King’s lips turn up into an unexpected smile, and his eyes are steady as they gaze at me as though he’s not looking for a reason to leave. “When I was eight, my dad hired a farmhand that liked to sketch. He’d sit out in the fields and draw different scenery. I swear, by the time he left five years later, he’d drawn nearly every single angle of the farm. He didn’t talk a lot. He was older, and I think he had a lot of secrets he shared with his art, drawing darker shadows than what were present and clouds when the skies were clear.” Explaining this brings me back to sitting beside him, the scent of hay as potent as the Oregon rain is today as I braved approaching for the first time while he was in the middle of creating the field of mares. “One day I couldn’t stop myself. I knew he was out there drawing, and I sat right next to him and just watched. It was so different than what I had been doing. It was the first time I saw anyone use charcoal, and I fell in love instantly. “We rarely ever spoke. I just enjoyed watching him, learning techniques and his methods.”

“I think if others took the time to listen and watch rather than speak, we’d all be a lot smarter.”

“I think if people took the time to discuss things, there would be far less confusion.”

King tilts his head. “But the problem is, the same people that always want to talk are rarely ready to listen.”

“Are you insinuating something?” I’ve never been great at keeping my thoughts to myself, but with King I feel like my gloves are completely off, my base paint exposed. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one that’s been gone all week.”

“Missed me?”

“If you didn’t already learn from the last time you tried to tease and taunt your way into making me discuss things with you, it’s not a great approach.”

His hand reaches forward, encircling the feather bangle I have worn every day since receiving.

“Nor is claiming.” I pull out of his touch and shoot a glare to send my point home.

“Dude, you ready?” A guy I barely recognize directs his question at King.

“No, he’s not ready.” The guys’ eyes rotate to me, his head still facing King and his lips parting with unease.

“Um…”

“I’ll catch up with you later,” King assures him.

Without nodding or saying a word, the guy turns and leaves.

“I’m done playing these games with you. If you really want to hang out, or be something besides an annoyance in each other’s lives, you need to cut this shit out. I’m funny. I’ll laugh at your jokes, but I am sick and tired of being the butt of them.”

“Your butt has never been in one of my jokes.”

My chin drops. King’s lips twitch before he stops trying to maintain his stoic expression. Then he nods. A loud breath blows between us and he moves a hand to his face, where I know, as I turn back to my painting, that it’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just don’t know … We’re going about everything in reverse order. I feel like things are upside down and backward because I already know so much about you. I know what kind of person you are. I know that you don’t give two shits about who I am or what my brother does. I know you are crazy cool and ridiculously talented, and while you can’t cook to save your life, I’d be okay with eating it simply to spend time with you.”

My brush holds no paint, yet I can’t move it from the wall. After demanding that he change his approach, I’m so caught off guard with this one that I can’t look at him.

“You know I like you. I think I like you a little too much, and it makes me forget I’m not ten.”

My lips tug into an automatic smile that lifts higher when his hand brushes down my back, settling where my spine curves inward. “I’m going to stop being such a dickhead … or at least try. I’ll warn you though: you have the ability to irritate me more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

I’m no longer too shy to look at him. My eyebrows are drawn with my confusion and offense.

“Don’t act surprised. I know I drive you crazy too.”

“That’s because you act like a dickhead.”

“You guys are both stubborn and way too proud. Lo gets on drawing and painting tangents and King, you find every excuse to travel, or come beat the hell out of yourself in the shop.”

“Thanks for that assessment, Summer.” King lifts a hand and points to the door. “We’ll see you later.”

“As long as you guys both know that I know. Now when one of you starts acting like a jackass, I’ll be sure to remind you to stop.” Her smile is nearly as bright as it turns when she’s spending time alone with Kash. Her blond hair fans as she whirls around and heads outside.

Before turning back to King, my eyes dart around the shop, studying each of the areas to ensure we’re actually alone before continuing the conversation.

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning for San Francisco, but I want to take you to dinner when I get back. How about Friday?”

“I can’t. I have model practice.”

“How much longer is that?”

“Five more weeks.”

King’s eyes stretch. “Jesus. Okay, Saturday I have to be up in Seattle for a competition. What about during the week?”

“You do realize I see you like every day, right?”

King furrows his eyebrows, telling me my words are crazy. “That’s not the same. Yeah, I like getting to spend time with you and just see what you’re like and be in a relaxed setting, but I want to see you in heels and a dress. I want your attention focused on me. And I really don’t want the Peanut Gallery to be around, adding subtext to all of our interactions.”

A dress? Heels? I’ve been out on dates with guys before, but never while wearing that attire outside of a high school dance.

“I have to get some work done next week to complete my submission.” I balance my paintbrush in my hand holding the palette so I can brush a few strands of hair back from my face, not caring when I think of Charleigh’s assurance that it means I’m flirting.

“Submission? For what?”

“Italy this summer.”

“You’re going to Italy?”

“I doubt it. There’s some really steep competition, and multiple colleges across the country are participating.”

“What would it be for?”

“Art restoration.”

“Next Saturday.” He shakes his head when my mouth opens. “Next Saturday,” he repeats.

“Next Saturday,” I confirm with a nod.

His lips quirk up into his uneven smile, and without question or thought, mine follow. Confidence radiates in his steps and his eyes that are focused on mine, making me squirm and look back to my palette and the wall a few times before finally returning to King. He smiles even wider, revealing his perfect teeth that I had described to Charleigh, and then he leans closer. I can feel my pulse in my neck, and it increases when the scent of him blocks the acrylic paint and coolness of the cement that the shop always exudes. “Lo, close your eyes.” His tongue wets his lips, and his eyes blink slowly, the weight of lust making them heavy. “You’re studying me.”

I shake my head so slightly that it’s nearly imperceptible. “I’m memorizing you.”

“Are you going to draw me?”

“Are you going to kiss me?” My voice is low, the anticipation making my lungs forget their primary function.

“If you tell me you’re going to draw me.”

“Probably a thousand times tonight.”

“Good.” The word barely slips through his lips before I lean closer and kiss him. If it surprises him, I can’t tell, because there is no hesitancy, no awkward shifting that often happens when you’re learning to kiss a new person. King’s bottom lip covers mine and then moves to my upper lip, pulling, plying, massaging, and erasing every last thought and image aside from him. The palm of his hand is hot as it cups my jaw. Then his fingers gently press firmly into my skin as his other hand wraps around my back. Our chests and hips are close enough I feel the graze of him as he breathes. Everything is fluid, matched, perfect.

“WHAT’S GOING on?”

I turn to face Mercedes, my eyebrows stretched high in question.

“You did your hair today and you seem really happy, when all week you’ve been a stress case.”

“I was able to get a lot done with my portfolio this week. I’m relieved that it’s starting to come together.”

“That doesn’t explain the hair.”

Touché.

“I’m just…”

“You know I know, right?”

“Know what?”

“Everything.” She giggles as my eyes roll. “I might be ten, but I pay attention. I know you like my uncle King.”

“That’s…” Mercedes’ fists go to her hips. “…true…” A smile breaks out across her face with my confession.

“Let’s go out to the shop! He’s out there riding right now.” She takes my hand before allowing me the opportunity to object and pulls me to the front door.

I’m trailing behind her only slightly, my own excitement not allowing me to play it very cool. Each day that we’ve been in here this week while King’s been gone, my eyes have landed on my painting before seeing anything else, scrutinizing it and reminding myself of things I need to change or do. Today my black and white creation isn’t even a thought as my attention lands solely on King. He’s mid-air, a euphoric expression highlighting his face.

He completes two more trips across the ramp before coming to a stop and looking our way. “I thought you were bringing her here as soon as she arrived?”

“She made me do my homework first. I tried texting you!” Mercedes cries.

My neck and face heat. I know I’m blushing, something I can attribute to my ever-white Irish skin. I shoot an accusing look to Mercedes that she reciprocates with a laugh.

“I knew already. King can’t keep a secret. Not from me.” Mercedes’ voice holds a lilt from her obvious amusement.

“No gloating,” King says, walking his bike up beside us. Mercedes’ smile isn’t affected by his words, but she does turn and get her own bike.

“Hey.” My eyes stop following her and return to King, my pulse quickening. “Want to try getting on a bike again? We can go for a ride on the trails instead of in here.”

“I have to be able to stand for three hours tonight. I don’t think riding would be a great idea figuring what happened the last time.”

“I’ll help you. You can trust me. I won’t let you do anything to hurt yourself.” The sincerity in his eyes makes turning down his offer a little harder, but I’m not ready to get back on two wheels.

“That’s okay. I don’t want you to do it while you’re nervous. That can lead to unnecessary accidents. Take your time, watch, and when you’re ready, we’ll go together,” he says before I have to object.

“King’s the best teacher,” Mercedes chimes as she rolls her bike past us.

“At everything,” he adds, his eyes lighting up with endless innuendos.

I smirk to hide my laughter, but his growing smile tells me he knows that I understand his silent insinuations. I’ve been holding on to our last kiss since Monday, four days ago, and it’s making the teenage boy euphemisms and implications that are running through my mind seem far more entertaining than they are.