Page 25 of Double Trouble

“And what did you say to all this?”

She lets out a humorless laugh and rolls her head to me. “What do you think? I said nothing. Absolutely nada. I don’t stir the pot; I just eat whatever they put in front of me.”

Confusion pulls at my brow, but I don’t ask her to elaborate. “And Dem… what does she want?”

“That’s the worst part.” She juts her gaze away from me again, focusing hard on her helmet as she continues to trace around every bump in the design. “I thought for sure she’d want to stay with me. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been good… happy, I think.” She shakes her head, her bottom lip trembling. “But she wants back home, too. She said she wanted out before Pete leaves.”

My heart cracks in half for her, and I push past my fear of moving too soon, too fast, and I scoot an inch closer, pressing my shoulder up against hers. My fingers twitch near her hip, but her arm is bent at the elbow, and she’s got a hand locked on her helmet. Terror freezes me from holding it, but it won’t stop my tongue from doing its best to make things better.

“Did you ask her why?”

“Huh?” she asks, her breath catching as she twists, noticing how close we’ve become.

“Did you ask Demi why she wants to move in with your parents?”

She shakes her head, and the corner of my mouth lifts.

“Maybe you should.”

“What if I don’t want to know why?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” I softly nudge her. “She might be doing exactly what you do.”

“Which is…”

“Being selfless.”

She snorts, and though a rogue tear slips and runs over her cheek, her smile is beyond beautiful. “How do you figure?”

“Maybe she’s noticed a little bit of worry in her big sis.” I give her a knowing look. “She could be doing thisforyou, not as a way to rebel against you.”

I watch the thought run through her head behind her hazel eyes. I watch as it takes root and sparks a flame of hope. It’s enough to get a small grin from her.

“I think you’re my personal Obi Wan,” she says. Her hand falls from her helmet, landing centimeters away from mine. “Thank you.”

It’s so hard not to kiss her when she looks at me like this. Her smile is so soft, her eyes lit up like a lighthouse signaling me home. I want to crash right into her, even when I know I should steer clear.

The back of her hand taps mine, and my fingers itch to tangle up in hers. The loose, leather bracelet on her wrist tickles my skin, making my arm bubble with goosebumps.

I take a deep breath, holding it in, afraid that if I let it out, she’ll disappear, like all the other times I’ve imagined her this close.

I’ve watched her do so many things on this half-pipe. Axle stalls and drop-ins. The nose pick and the rock’n’roll. She’s spun my world around with her board, but not a single one of those tricks touches the fascination I have with her now, resting on her back in a bed of her long, dark hair, her helmet sitting on top of her stomach. Her fringed graphic tee inches up just enough to show off her bottom two abs, the button of her shorts catching the lights above us, including the flickering bulb that’s on its last leg.

The wrinkle between her brows that seemed permanent washed away during our conversation, and a dip of warm pride spreads through my chest. It’s a privilege to be that person for her—the guy to take her away from her stress.

Her forefinger reaches out, stroking my knuckle. I swallow hard, wanting to accept the invitation but scared stiff at the thought of actually doing it.

“Tanner?” she says, snagging my attention from our hands to her eyes.

“Hmm?”

The corners of her mouth turn up ever so slightly. The dying light above us gives out, plunging us in further shadows.

“You can hold my hand.”

Oh how I want to hold her hand. “I… can’t.”

“Why?”

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