Page 66 of Wylder and the Almost Rockstar
Reaching up on her toes, she brushed a kiss over his cheek. "Night, Logan."
She could feel his eyes on her as she climbed the stairs. In her room, she changed into the one pair of pajamas she'd brought—furry cat pants and an oversized sweatshirt that said "Hear Meow."
Slipping under the blankets on her bed, she realized there wasn't an ounce of tiredness in her. Not anymore.
She stared up at the ceiling and clapped her hands to turn off the motion sensor lights Becks insisted on putting in here.
Soon after the room went dark, the door cracked open, letting in a sliver of light from the hall.
Becks stepped in. "Psst, Wylds. You asleep?"
"Well, if I was, I wouldn't be now." She sat up and clapped her lights on.
He sent her an indulgent smile—which was much more Becks than the fighting she'd witnessed before. He wasn't petty or petulant. Not her brother. The guy she loved was kind and always willing to help someone in need.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
She smiled. "Yeah, Becks. I'm good."
"Okay." He pushed out a breath. "Okay, just checking in."
As much as it annoyed her, her brother's worry was also sweet. He'd probably check in on her for the rest of her life. There were worse things.
"Hey, Becks?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." He’d know what for. Calling the school to break her free, letting her bring his nemesis here to hide him. Even checking on her before going to bed.
He offered only a smile before slipping back out through the door.
18
Wylder tiptoed down the stairs, trying not to wake Logan.
“Ouch.” She stubbed her toe on the bottom stair. Hopping across the room, she swallowed her cries, stumbling into the kitchen. “Oh, the pain,” she choked as she cracked the fridge open, careful not to make any noise.
“You can’t possibly be hungry.” Logan’s shadow moved to the bar.
“No. Ice. Pain. Foot.” Wylder grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer.
“Drop it.” Logan came up behind her. “Sit.” He pointed to the barstool.
“Stupid stair railing. It gets me every time.” She hopped to the seat.
“There has to be an icepack in here somewhere.” Logan shifted through boxes of frozen pizzas.
“See if they have taquitos.”
“You don’t need taquitos.”
“You don’t know that. Taquitos might be the magic cure.”
“Ah, here it is.”
“Pop them in the toaster.”
“It’s an icepack for your toe, Wylds.” Logan bent down to lay the icepack across her injured foot.
