Page 45 of Thrown for a Loop
The niece who turned out to be Zoe.
God, he’s an idiot. But it probably wouldn’t have mattered if he’d figured this out sooner. He wouldn’t have been able to stay away.
He runs a fingertip down Zoe’s perfect nose. “I’m probably dead if anyone finds out about us.”
She laughs. “Me too. But they won’t. That’s why I told you not to come upstairs earlier.”
“Who was up here?”
“A couple of bunheads.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t we just talk about this? Were they wearing buns?”
She looks away, smiling. “Braidheads just doesn’t have the same ring.”
“True. How’d you get rid of them?”
“I told them I was working on a new piece of choreography and I come up here to work in secret.”
He snickers. “Good one.”
“Well, Iam,” she insists. “We only have two weeks to come up with our program. It’s going to be amazing.”
“Really? Did you find a better skater than me to do this piece with you? Because I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m the worst dude at camp.”
She shakes her head. “This isn’t going to be about jumps. I mean—
we’ll jump, but you can do singles.”
The competitor inside him says, “I bet I could do a double.”
“I bet you could,” she agrees. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re going to have the coolest piece, because this song is sexy and kind of dark, and everyone else will be trying to impress Sister Walsh withSwan Lakeand ‘Clair de lune.’”
“If you say so.”
She retrieves her phone off the asphalt roof. “You chose well,”she says. “It has a really strong beat and lots of slow glide on the guitar. It’s just perfect for skating.”
She pressesplayand then leans her head on his shoulder while Chris Isaak sings about his horribly broken heart.
He’s happily inhaling the scent of her hair when his phone rings rudely and his father’s number pops up on the screen. He sends it to voicemail. But then the asshole calls again.
“Excuse me a sec,” he apologizes. Then he crosses the rooftop before accepting the third call. “Hey, I’m here. Is something wrong?”
“You bet, fucker,” his dad slurs. “What did you do with mySawzall? You sell it?”
Chase screws his eyes closed. “I didn’t sell anything,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm.You’re the only one who sells off tools to buy whiskey.
“You owe me fifty bucks,” his father says.
“Igaveyou fifty bucks,” he says firmly. “The day before I left for my summer job, I gave you two twenties and a ten.”
“Well, it’s not here,” the old man sneers. “Looked in your room. Big mess. Might have a bonfire if I can’t find my fifty bucks.”
His chest goes tight. There’s nothing of value in his room, because he’s smarter than that. But his photo albums are there, and his team pennant. And every last memory he has of his mother.
“Fifty bucks, Chasey,” his father slurs. “You don’t cheat family.”
He never should have answered the phone. It’s really killing his high. “Imightbe able to Venmo you forty bucks,” he says. “I’d have to check my bank balance.” He knows better than to make it sound too easy.
