Page 63 of I Knew You Were Trouble

“You smell like champagne,” he says.

“Better than garlic.”

He chuckles. “You been drinking?”

“It’s my New Year’s perfume.” I change it up every holiday. Once Christmas was over, I put away my candy apple and pulled out my sparkling champagne scent.

“Sure.”

I nudge him, and the next selfie comes out blurry. “You know me better than that.”

“Well, I thought with this new bad girl image, you might’ve given yourself a couple sips.”

“Before I’m twenty-one?” I gasp, putting a hand to my chest. I mean it as a joke, but he probably knows I wouldn’t touch alcohol until it was legal, no matter how “bad” it makes me look. A girl does have her limits.

He drops his arm, and now I’ve got about twenty pictures of the two of us to sift through. I won’t be able to use many, I already know. I’m smiling in all of them.

His thumb swipes through them, pausing on a couple. I watch his face, the small perma-grin on his lips looking kind of sad today. Hmm, I wonder if he had another talk with his dad. Or if he’s just beat. Or it’s nothing. I don’t know, but I don’t have the courage to ask either. My head was a buzz before he came out, and it’s selfish, but I want to just bask in the non-buzzing peace Pete provides for a minute.

I rest my chin on his shoulder and watch as he sends a bunch of them to himself. “How’s work?” I ask, sticking to a safe subject.

“Busy.”

“Who are you with today?”

“Josh this morning. Aislynn tonight.”

“Are you ever going to take a day off?”

His shoulder bounces my chin in his silent, humorless laughter. “New Year’s Eve.”

“When Troublemakers is closed.”

“Yep.”

I shake my head, wishing there was something I could do, but there isn’t. At least not without overstepping. I could offer him a job with the horses, too, but the image of that has me pressing my lips together to keep my laughter at bay.

“I can give you Friday night off,” I suggest. “Let you get some sleep.” I say it, but I can’t keep the disappointment out of my voice. Rebelessons are the thing I look forward to the most every weekend.

He doesn’t answer, his thoughts staying frustratingly up in his head. He hands me my phone, then pats my leg twice before pushing up off Gertrude. I help him cover her back up, and we have our normal razzing and sparring as the wind fights us. He’s still off, though, and I have no idea how to get him back.

“Better clock back in,” he says after pulling the zipper down and securing the bike cover.

“Thanks for not teasing me too hard about this.” I gesture to Gertrude, but he knows what I mean.

“I’ll see you on Friday, Candace.”

“I gave you the night off.”

He narrows his eyes, tilting his head a bit. “I’ll see you Friday.”

Then he trudges back to the doors leading into Troublemakers. My heart thuds thick and heavy for him, and I frown, gathering up my tripod and sticking it in the backseat. I’ll force him to sleep if he’s in this mood during our lessons. The guy definitely needs it.

Pete

The week between Christmas and New Year goes by in a blur of Troublemakers arcade lights. I’m a dead man walking come time for Candace’s party, just coming off my shift. I worked the Zombie Zone today, and with the dark circles under my eyes and the deep groan my voice has taken, they probably thought I was just another zombie animatronic.

The snow is falling thicker than it has all December, so I had Mad drop me off and pick me up. She of course is invited to the party, too, and she’s decked out for the occasion, wearing the only skirt she owns and a pair of sky high boots. Her coat is so big that it gives her about a three foot radius—I got it for her for Christmas. She was in desperate need of switching out that skater jacket she wore four holes into.

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