Page 173 of Shade

“Who are you texting?” I glance at Tiller’s phone he’s holding in his hand and the text message that reads:Dome me up.

“What the fuck doesdome me upmean?”

He laughs lightly. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Something to do withStar Wars?” You have to admit it’s a valid thought. He’s into those movies. He has Ninja Turtle sheets.

“You meanStar Trek?” Tiller shakes his head, as if having to correct me on my movies is painful for him.

“Whatever. What does it mean?”

Leaning back on the stool, he takes his right hand and then moves it slowly up and down over his dick like someone is giving him head. He doesn’t come out and say it because guess who’s sitting next to him?

Camden. They’ve corrupted that boy enough.

I stare wide-eyed at Tiller. “Has a girl everlikedyou, Tiller.”

“No. Probably not.”

“Liar. He liked a girl once,” Shade adds, revving his bike and then jumping on the counter with it, knocking over Camden’s bowl of cereal.

For one, you’re wondering why I’m trying to figure out the mind of the demon, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you want to know more about Tiller Nathan Sawyer?

And two, you’re wondering why Shade’s on a dirt bike considering the dude broke his neck two months ago. That’s a good fucking question. Doctor said no trail riding or practicing for twelve weeks. Apparently—and you should know this too—Shade doesn’t follow the rules given by anyone.

Since the surgery, every day he gets a little bit more range of motion and decided, after five weeks, not to use the neck brace anymore.

Sighing, I look to Tiller. I’ve been living here for months, and I still don’t understand him. He’s a mystery Ineedto figure out. “So what happened with the girl youliked?”

Shade distracts me for a moment when he balances the entire dirt bike on the damn counter, grinning, then jumps off it and onto the floor in a fluid motion. Did I mention he’s technically not cleared to be on a dirt bike? Let alone one in the house jumping off counters.

“What are you doing?” I ask, shaking my head at him, but smiling because the grin on his face once he’s on a bike is unforgettable.

“Doctor said no trail riding,” Shade points out, as if I wasn’t there at the appointment. “He didn’t say anything about the house.”

“Pretty sure he meant no house too.”

Shade ignores me completely.

Tiller’s watching him closing, but leans his head toward me, giving me his ear. “What?”

“Oh, right.The girl.” Can you see my face? I’m very interested. “What happened with the girl you liked?”

“Oh.” He nods. “Her.” Do you hear the distaste in his voice? There’s a story behind her. “Well. . . ” He lets out the heaviest of sighs. “I gave her a flower and then I ate it. She kicked me in the balls.”

“Why’d you eat the flower?”

He shrugs and then kicks his foot out to knock Shade off the bike, but it doesn’t work. “Hell if I know. Why does any five-year-old do half the shit they do?”

Five. He hasn’t liked a girl since he was five?

“What was her name?”

This time he scowls at me as if he knows exactly what I’m doing and doesn’t appreciate my invasion into his privacy. “I don’t remember.”

Shade races by us at the counter and then does a front wheelie, swings the back of the bike around, hits the fridge with the back tire and the yells out, “Amberly Johnson.”

It’s sudden when Tiller reaches across the counter to the knives, retrieves one and straight up hurls it at Shade. Luckily, Shade is wearing a helmet, so when it hits the side of his helmet, it then falls to the floor.

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