Page 146 of Skate the Line

He places my mug on the counter and shrugs. “Might have to punish you for that.”

My eyes widen, and he smiles. His bright-white teeth catch my attention, and my heart flops. “Oh, wait.” He shakes his head with a deep chuckle. “I forgot. You like to be punished.”

My jaw slacks.

He winks.

I cross my arms and pout. “You’re breaking our deal.”

Ellie’s footsteps catch our attention. We both pause for a split second before he strides across the kitchen and stops beside me. He leans in close, but I refuse to lose this battle and move away.

“You started it,” he whispers.

I’ve never been so captivated by a man. I’m stuck in place with his closeness. Energy flows through my limbs like he’s the very air I breathe.

It’s ahugeissue.

One that I’m going to have to simply just get over.

Is it because he’s the first guy I’ve felt comfortable with in such a long time? Is it because he makes me feel safe while also making me feel wild too?

“See you tomorrow, Sunshine.” He sighs, and my hair moves with his heavy breath. “And if you lie in my bed tonight to watch the game, do me a favor.”

Oh god.

“Don’t wash the sheets. I like them smelling like sunshine.”

The pounding of my heart is so loud I hardly hear him arguing with Ellie about her allowing him to braid her hair. He tells her that he’s been practicing, and she reluctantly sits below his feet and lets him try.

I make a mental note to give him some more lessons—but most definitely with Ellie there as our chaperone.

“Here.” I reach forward with the washcloth and wipe Ellie’s face in the midst of her bubble bath. “You have paint everywhere.”

She shrugs. “I like being messy sometimes.”

I lean forward. “Me too.”

“Is that why you like art so much?” Water splashes with her quick movements, and it sprinkles my shirt. Ellie makes a face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I told you I like being messy.” I dip the cup underneath the water and pour some on her head, washing away the rest of the shampoo. “And to answer your question, I like being able to express myself in ways that don't require me to speak aloud.”

That rang true the moment Gramps grew ill. Instead of talking about it and breaking down like I wanted to, I turned to painting. I’d always been creative, so much that I set out to get my degree in art history, but in order to help Nana and stay strong for her, I used it as my outlet.

That was when I started to record the time-lapse videos of me painting. With the encouragement from Ruby, I posted them online, and I garnereda lotof attention. I sold paintings and got requests. It was exhilarating.

Shortly after the incident, I took all the videos down for my own safety and peace of mind.

There were a few lingering, but last I checked, I could no longer find them.

They’re long gone, just like my dreams of selling in a museum one day.

“Why don’t you like to speak aloud?” she asks.

I glance at the time. It’s getting close to puck drop. I pull the plug on the tub and reach for the towel. “Well, do you like to talk about your feelings?”

She looks away. “Only sometimes.”

I nod. “That’s because it’s hard to put into words what we feel sometimes.”

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