Page 23 of The Puckable Playbook

A ginormous hunkof steel with a front like a Mack truck looms in front of us. Butterflies erupt in my stomach. Trish told me his parents liked to camp. She said she found it primitive. This is anything but.My God.“I thought you said RV, not space machine.”

Zaiah chuckles, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward it. “Just you wait.”

His father steps out and yells, “All aboard!” then peers around like he’s planning to welcome a ton of visitors. The way his eyes light up when he sees Zaiah, though. “Hey, kid.” He’s not bashful about giving him a hug and neither is his son. It’s not even a bro hug or that weird thing guys do, it’s a straight up hug for several long seconds.

I stand back, a little out of breath from the running, and watch with a pang of jealousy. But then his dad opens his eyes and sees me standing there.

“Oh, who do we have here?” He practically pushes Zaiah away. “You know you never keep a woman waiting, son.”

My cheeks heat at his words. It feels so stupid to admit, really stupid, but the moment Zaiah tucked in my shirt and I walked out of the dorm with these leggings on, I was a new person; a normal human being who could go out into the world and be looked at. I stick out my hand confidently. “I’m Lenore.”

Zaiah says it at the same time, but stops at the shortened version of my name, giving me a curious look when I keep going.

New person, new name. Or should it be new person, old name? My father wanted to call me Lenore. Believe it or not, it’s after a famous hockey player, but I’ll be taking that tidbit of information to the grave.

“What a pretty name,” his father says, grabbing my hand and shaking it. He waves me inside like a butler, complete with a short bow. “Welcome to my humble abode. I’m Tom.”

“Humble, my ass!” Zaiah quips.

His father shrugs. “There was a bigger one.”

I grab hold of the light-up railing and step into the poshest traveling home I’ve ever seen. It looks like a rock star’s bus. Neon rope lights frame the ceiling. White leather adorns everything. I think I’ve actually found something I wouldn’t mind my father spending his money on. “I can’t imagine traveling in this.”

“If you’re going to do something, do it in style,” Zaiah’s father remarks behind me.

“Oh,” a female voice says. I peer toward the sound and see a teenager getting up from one of the plush couches. She eyes me, gaze narrowing. When she reads my shirt, she relaxes a little.

“I’m Lenore,” I introduce myself, walking toward her. I almost put my hand out, but then decide that’s stupid. “You must be Zaiah’s sister.”

“Izzy,” she confirms.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

A little ways back—because let’s face it, it’s still an RV—another female figure appears, sporting an apron that she’s currently wiping her hands on. As if on cue, my other senses open up, and the most delicious smell fills my nostrils.

“Mom, this is Lenore,” Zaiah says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “My new roommate.Justroommate.”

“Oh, you dear. Thank you so much for getting Isaiah out of that hell hole of a room. God, he was so miserable.”

She pulls me in for a hug, and I stand there in shock for a few seconds before I return it.

“Forgot to warn you,” Zaiah whispers. “Mom’s a hugger.”

“And Dad’s weird,” Izzy echoes in the same inflection.

“Perfect,” I say, smiling, soaking up the attention. I can do affection and weird.

His mother releases me and points at Zaiah. “Keep that smart mouth up and I won’t cook for you today.”

“Sources say that’s a lie,” Izzy monotones.

I like her.

First, Zaiah hugs his mom, then he walks over to Izzy and does the same before picking her up and shaking her.

“Did you get another muscle?” she chokes out. “Damn, Zaiah.”

---