Page 103 of Burnout
“Why are you laughing?” she asks, propping one hand on her hip.
“It’s nothing. It’s just the way you said ‘I trained with her before the Olympics’ like that’s a totally normal thing.”
“Oh.” She looks more embarrassed at that than if I’d told her yes, you did in fact insert yourself into our very private family discussion. Not that I could have joked about that even with a straight face.
Still laughing, I step forward to brush my lips over hers. “You’re a badass. Own it, princess.”
She softens under me immediately, and it takes all I have to pull back before I forget about dinner and burn the house down. Which reminds me Flynn is watching.
I chance a glance at him as I straighten and as I suspected, he’s got a curious expression on his face. I clear my throat and tip my chin at Avery. “I’ve got it from here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I assure her.
She goes around to the other side of the kitchen counter and sits next to Flynn. “So, why Houston?”
I expect him to shrug or say, “I don’t know.” Instead, he says, “They just got this new pitching coach, Luka Champe. He was a relief pitcher for the Diamondbacks in the early two-thousands, but hurt his shoulder and only played a few seasons. He retired and disappeared for a while, but then about five years ago he took a job coaching at a junior college, took a struggling programto the national championship in two years. I’d kill to play for him.”
“Luka Champe.” I say the name slowly. “I think I remember him. You had his card framed on your desk.”
Flynn looks embarrassed that I remember, but nods.
“Are you going there to tour the school?” Avery asks him.
“Nah. It’s too far.” Flynn shakes his head and fiddles with a pen on the counter in front of him.
“We could probably make it work some weekend,” I say as I think through my schedule. There aren’t a lot of free weekends between now and the start of the motocross season.
Flynn must have already realized the same thing because he doesn’t press.
“Where else are you thinking?” Avery asks him. “I loved college touring. I went to so many different schools, my parents were begging me to choose already.”
She and Flynn talk colleges while I make dinner. He’s enamored with her, or just really likes talking colleges, but he speaks more than I’ve heard him say at once…ever.
Brogan and Archer get home just as I’m pulling the enchiladas out of the oven. Avery comes back in and asks where to find plates and silverware. She sets the dining room table and although we all glance at her uneasily, no one breaks it to her that we rarely eat at the table and instead the five of us have dinner together while she carries most of the conversation.
I’ve turned into Flynn, barely finding my voice and instead watching how she interacts with my brothers. We’re a lot to take on a good day, and yet she seems perfectly at ease while Flynn shovels food into his mouth and Archer gets up to get a second bag of tortilla chips when we finish the first. He tosses it like a football to Brogan across the room. She isn’t fazed at all, or at least she has a good poker face if she’s inwardly cringing at the chaos around her.
Everyone else disappears when they’re done eating and Avery and I walk back into the kitchen last to put our plates in the dishwasher.
Without saying anything, she wipes down the counter while I put the leftovers in Tupperware for Hendrick.
It’s only when we’re done that I can see a little of that earlier worry working on her. She smiles but when she thinks I’m not looking, she chews on her thumbnail and gets this contemplative faraway look.
“Thanks for helping.” I wrap my arms around her waist. I didn’t hate having her help and I always hate when people help.
“Thanks for feeding me. You’re a good cook.”
My chest shakes with a short laugh. “I manage.”
“Don’t tell me cocky Knox Holland is humble about his cooking skills?” she mocks with a hand held to her throat dramatically.
I take her mouth like I’ve wanted to all night. Her arms go around my neck and she presses flush against me. I want nothing more than to take her into my room and stay there the rest of the night.
“Hey,” I say, pulling back and looking down at her flushed face and puffy lips. “Want to go back to the gym?”
Her eyes light up, but she masks it quickly. “Why?”
