“Play a game with me,” Tweetie said.
“A game?”
“See who does it better.” She rode into the street and did a trick. My trick, the one I’d invented years ago that put me on the map. When she finished, she rode back, stopping a few inches from me, a smile on her face.
“Your turn.”
I shrugged. “Pass.” But Tweetie captured my arm, dragged and pulled me to the board.
“Come on, Flip,” she said, laughing. I couldn’t blame her, it was exactly what I’d done earlier.
She had no idea the pain.
I missed it. I missed skating so much it was like a knife that never left my side.
“Think you’ll lose to a girl?” She laughed. “Afraid I did it better?” In any other situation, I’d be fucking ecstatic to have Tweetie on me like this. Hands all over me, pushing with all her body to get me on the board.
The past crawled inside my head like venom and hot peppers.
“Let it fucking go!” My yell bounced off the empty Victorians. Tweetie froze, then jumped off me.
A loaded, stiff silence followed, only the distant sound of Patchwork’s party leaking into the darkness.
The look on her face was scalding.
“Shit.” I tore off my hat, rubbed a hand through my dark brown waves. “I’m sorry, Tweetie.”
“It’s my fault.” She wouldn’t look at me. “I pushed.” More silence. More Tweetie not looking at me.
I needed to fix this.
“You’re right,” I said with a smile. “Didn’t want to lose to a girl.”
We walked back to Patchwork in silence.
When we reached the house, neither of us made a move to go up the steps, but we didn’t talk, either. We stood by the tree in the street. Her with one foot on her board, balancing. Me with the bike.
“So I lied before,” Tweetie said. I raised a brow. “I’m not excited about my competition. I’m afraid. No, I’m terrified.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Afraid of not achieving my dreams. Afraid it has nothing to do with being a girl and everything to do with my talent.”
More silence.
“Were you ever afraid?” she asked. It was loaded with so much more. In the way she looked at me, once again tearing apart my layers. She wanted to know what happened before.
“At your competitions, that is,” she added.
I’m terrified.
Worried I’ll never skate again.
The shaky wall I’d just reconstructed was breaking.
I laughed. “Me? I’m the best in the fucking world.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know why I bother.” She hopped on her board, ready to leave. I should’ve taken the out I’d made for myself, but I grabbed her by the elbow, pulled us beneath the tree. Tweetie fell off the skateboard and it skidded into the street. Her hoodie capsized beneath my fingers to reveal her small arm. Her breath pulled, eyes grew, waiting for my next move.
“I was mad.”
I pressed her against the trunk, an arm above her head, keeping her pinned.
“Mad I was on the streets. Mad that people looked at me and made opinions and judgments before they knew me. Mad I had to work for what other people were given.
“And then I became the first. Suddenly that was a huge fucking deal. The same people who’d told me I couldn’t have anything because there’d never been anyone like me were now eager to give me everything because I was the first.
“Suddenly everyone was rooting for me. People who didn’t give a shit about me when I was nothing were telling me I couldn’t fail.” I paused. “It will happen to you too.”
Her eyes popped. “That didn’t scare you?”
It should have.
I shook my head slowly.
“I have fears now, Tweetie, but back then I was too naive—too lucky—to be anything but angry.” Her forehead creased, slowly trying to process what that meant. I pushed her farther against the tree, bodies pressed, and flipped my hat around so there was nothing keeping me from her.
Our lips so close to touching.
TWEETIE
I was certain Flip was going to kiss me.
What scared me most was I thought I would let him. Break my rules. All my life I’d been stuck in the middle, wanting to be wanted, but not sure how I could be when boys had always made it clear I wasn’t pretty enough.
Flip made me feel like I could have both.
I could be myself and be wanted.
“Don’t do this with other guys,” he said again. His breath was on my lips, my heartbeat hazy—and he wasn’t even touching me.
“Hmm?” He was blurry, the only clear thing the intensity in his eyes.
He smiled, crooked and lazy. Flip was the hottest man I’d ever laid eyes on, and each time I did, I was stunned anew. His posters didn’t do him justice. In print he was dulled, but in person he was fire, with a heat that made my thighs ache. Tall but not too tall, with tousled, just-slept-in hair. Slight black eyes that said he didn’t give a fuck about anything, but a smile that said he’d fuck you blind.
Still, the smile was a broken one.
Like after he’d tried to play off what happened when I’d pushed him to skate.
He acted so happy all the time, but happy people don’t get black eyes. They don’t brood in their room for hours beneath posters of their past. They don’t sleep on the floor next to a perfectly good bed.
They don’t give up something that makes their heart beat.
There was so much in his eyes that I wanted to understand, bruised like the skin beneath them, but not green and healing. Just bruised. Black. Lonely.
He leaned closer, elbow above me bent, forcing me to press my back even harder against the bark. So close the breeze made our clothes kiss.
“This…” His knuckles grazed my cheeks, and a flurry of goose bumps rose all across my body. “Is only for me.”
My lips parted, still not understanding.
“Your fears,” he said. “You’re so damn fearless, Tweetie. So when you’re afraid, only tell me. Hide behind me, let me fight what you can’t. Give in to me. I promise I’ll do a good job of it.”
My breath rushed out of me. Flip studied me for a long, scorching second. Then he stepped back.
I saw everything through throbbing heartbeats. Flip grabbing his bike. Beat. Riding back to Patchwork. Beat. Never looking back at me. Beat.
I slid down the tree, legs weak.
Twelve
Speed wobble: When the skateboard becomes unstable, leading to loss of control.
TWEETIE
I paused when I heard Flip’s voice. The solarium door was open and cold autumn air drifted inside. Light leaked through the windows, and so did Flip’s voice, as well as another’s: Bacon.
“I still don’t think I’m good enough,” Bacon said.
I inched closer to get a better view. Bacon was on a skateboard in the center of the ramp. Helmet too tight on his round face, skateboard dipping in the middle.
My comp was only a few days away, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Flip. His lips on my skin or how he’d looked at me last night. Not burning like the night he kissed me, but unyielding. Nothing would get in the way of what he wanted, and I felt what he wanted was…me.
I was still hot and itchy with thoughts of him, so I was going to do what I always did—skate.
So of course he was out there.
Flip held Bacon by the shoulders. “Everyone deserves a chance to learn. I had people try and keep me out of the park when I was a kid. Thought only a specific type of person should be a skater.” He adjusted Bacon’s helmet. “They were idiots. Weren’t real skaters. That’s not what skating is about.”
My heart grew as I listened to Flip. I knew it was wrong and I should make myself known, but I desperately wanted to know more of Flip.
Last night wasn’t enough. It was like being given a crumb of delicious cake.
He’d lived in the same orp
hanage, he’d felt the same anger, but Flip didn’t meet my checklist, wasn’t the boy I’d spent two years trying to find. I was finding the more I got to know him, though, the less I cared.
Flip held his hand out to Bacon, and then it was back to teaching. Bacon kept falling off the board, making silly, stupid mistakes, but Flip was patient. So patient. So kind. The greatest skater in the world, many magazines had said, helping someone who didn’t know his left foot from his right.
They took a break.
“Why did you stop skating?” Bacon asked.
My heart thumped. I really wanted to know this.
“Tweetie?”
I spun on a gasp. Daniel. Flip and Bacon’s heads lifted in unison, following Daniel’s voice. Flip’s inky brow arched, and his grin grew slow and satisfied.
Caught.
“Oh, hey…” I slapped my thigh, coming out from behind the iron and glass door. “Hey. I was just, um…” Was what? Why was I hiding? Screw it, I’m going to gloss over it, hope no one notices.
“Competition coming up,” I said. “Gonna…you know…do the thing. With the board. And the ramp. And the, uh…” I dropped my board, buckling my helmet. “Yep, uh huh.”
Daniel gave me a look like are you alright?
Flip’s grin grew until his dimples popped, eyes glittering.
Please god, let him go inside.
Stop looking at me with that self-satisfied smirk.
I stared holes into the starry gray grip of my board.
“I think we oughta head inside, let Tweetie practice in peace, Bacon. She must be dying to get on the ramp. She just got here, after all.” It was like he’d swallowed a thousand canaries. I ground my jaw, staring at the ground until he, Daniel, and Bacon went inside.
I skated until my thighs screamed and lungs burned, trying to punish the thoughts of him away with intense practice. When I was finished, I was sweaty and in desperate need of a shower. But still I thought about him.
I should have heard the water running or registered how steamy the bathroom was. Growing up, we had a rule: always lock the bathroom. It was obvious, but after one traumatic interaction between me and Romeo, it became ironclad. So when the bathroom was unlocked, I didn’t think twice.
And that’s when I saw Flip.
Naked.
I stared.
I stared much longer than I should have. His perfectly toned, almond colored butt with dimples digging into the muscles. His thighs. Oh my god, his thighs. Slim, yet muscular and defined and—
He turned around.
Instead of running like I should have, my eyes dropped, and I stared harder.
He toweled his hair like this was no big deal. “Hey Tweetie, sleep well?”
I blinked. “You’re naked.” He wasn’t like I imagined him—he was better. So much better.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, I saw you a few days ago doing a trick. I’ve never seen it before.” My eyes flashed up to his, then back down, then up again. “What do you call it?”
“You’re naked and asking me about my skateboarding.” He slowly wrapped a towel around his waist, and that’s when I realized I’d been absolutely violating him.
“And you haven’t answered any of my questions. Guess this makes us even for your bedroom though.” My eyes shot to his. One arched brow, a slight smirk hooking the right side of his mouth.
“I…uh…” I looked around the bathroom for an excuse.
“Where the fuck are your clothes?” I jumped at Daniel’s voice.
“Ask Tweetie.” He grinned, the dimple on his cheek feathering.
My mouth dropped.
“It’s not what it looks like.” I immediately backtracked, shooting Flip a look. Why was he always starting shit? At least it wasn’t King.
“Daniel—” I tried to explain again.
“Tweetie, out.”
His voice was hard—he never talked to me like that. I opened my mouth to fight back, but he gripped my elbow, shoving me behind his back, and slamming the door in my face.
My shoulders fell, the bathroom door mocking me with its various poop puns scrawled across it in anything from brilliant, neon calligraphy to terrible handwritten sharpie.
Mary Poopins.
The Log Father.
Fartacus.
A part of me wanted to tear it open; instead I released my frustration in a long sigh. Then I tiptoed down the hall, past my room, to the one that read Fuck Off. I pushed it open and headed straight for his closet.
I was so sick of Flip getting the best of me.
Making me blush and lose control.
Almost, maybe kissing me, then leaving me weak-kneed and wanting.
I rummaged through his clothes, searching for the shirt I’d guessed was his favorite by how often he wore it, the one I’d seen the very first night I’d come back: his D.A.R.E. tee. It fit him way too well and—there I went again, blushing.
I had a reputation of being shy. The one magazine that interviewed me called me sweet which, honestly, still bugs me. You wouldn’t call a guy skater sweet, but it wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on, I had bigger fish to fry.
I’m non-confrontational, not sweet. If I can avoid a fight, I will. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
Unfortunately, being a girl in this industry, you have to fight. For a place in the competitions. For equal pay. Every day I learned of a new fight, something the guys just had and I had to fight for.
I didn’t know why Flip kept pressing my buttons and starting fights. Since I’d arrived at Patchwork, we were constantly colliding. I couldn’t help but think there was something in his burnt toffee eyes searching for something.
Occasionally, like the previous night, I got glimpses of him without all the smirks. Maybe there was something deeper, or maybe he just thought what that interviewer at the magazine thought. She’s sweet. It’ll be easy to get in her pants. It was the only reason that douche even interviewed me.
But my life had been one battle after the next.
“Aha!” I said aloud, finding the shirt. I quickly grabbed it and exited. No one would suspect it wasn’t mine. I dressed like the guys.
But Flip—he would notice.
And that’s all that mattered.
FLIP
Daniel. “What are you doing?”
I tugged on a pair of jeans. “Trying to put on pants.”
“What are you doing here? With her?” It was a happy fucking accident. Remind me never to lock the door again. Pants still undone, I rubbed my temple. I couldn’t lie to Daniel, couldn’t fuck around with him.
“It was an accident, dude.”
Daniel released a breath, dropped his arms. The steam from my shower was evaporating, leaving the room cold and wet.
“I’m worried about her, Flip,” he said. “What are you going to do if she finds out?”
“She forgave King.” It fell out uselessly like all the other hopes I had in life. Hope my dad would come back. Hope my mom would get clean, not leave me. Hope I’d skate again. Hope I’d have somewhere to belong, forever.
“Is that all that matters? Forgiveness?” What about what it will do to her? Went unsaid but was nevertheless apparent in his concerned, soulful eyes. “King wasn’t the dream that kept her going during her nightmares. What’s going to happen when she learns her orphan idol is the one who orphaned her?”
Then Daniel left. Left me to make a decision we both knew I already should have made. It attached to my already pretty heavy shame and doubt.
Yesterday had been fucking amazing. I could count on my hand the number of times I’d gotten to experience Tweetie real and raw.
But the reality was in Daniel’s words, in the lies I had to apply to the truths she’d given freely. Why I couldn’t skate, why I’d been at Patchwork.
I went downstairs, hoping to lose myself in the solarium. When we’d first moved in it was my safe haven. I’d grown up just a few blocks from Patchwork, but the difference a few blocks could make was stark. I
never had a solarium, I had broken cupboards and bad carpet.
I used to love making up new animals in the clouds.
Silly, but fun.
But, when I came downstairs, TWEETIE was everywhere. On handwritten posters, name bold in glitter. On the ground, springy blond curls veiling her heart-shaped face, encircled by the four boys helping her make signs for her competition.
I froze, slowly backing up.
“Flip!” Bacon called for me. Shit. Spotted. He waved for me to come help just as Tweetie looked up from the floor, catching my stare. She was in another baggy shirt, a halo of curls under a damn baseball cap. Did she know how adorable it was when she tugged on the bill while biting her lip?
Wait—that’s my shirt.
“He’s probably busy,” Tweetie said, blue eyes flickering from me to her poster. Very busy. Too busy to wonder why she was in my shirt. Too busy to like that she was in my shirt. Too busy with the reality Daniel had reminded me of.
I smiled. “Not at all.”
Eyes still on Tweetie, I sat beside her and grabbed a pen. Clouds blasted through the glass above us, graffiti like stained glass on the windows.
“Nice shirt,” I said. She swallowed, hard, and chewed her bottom lip. I forgot everything then, watching her white front teeth prick her rosy bottom lip.
Eyes never straying from her poster, she said, “I actually think it’s kind of hideous.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help but return it, especially when her blue eyes shyly met mine.
“Asshole!” Both our heads jerked up at Sparky yelling at Pants.
“We’re not going to let you play if you keep insisting.” Sparky, Bacon, and Pants had stopped drawing, now in an arguing match over something that wasn’t immediately clear.
“But you owe me!” Pants shot back.
Remember how you fucking owe me?
The present dissolved and swirled away like I was caught in a watercolor blizzard. Then it was me and King, Daniel, Romeo in this room, years ago.
The pen fell.
I was on my feet.
Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1) Page 12