by Ginger Scott
I roll to my back and kick the blanket away as I feel around for my phone to check the time. It’s dark in the house, so I doubt it’s past five. My phone flops to the carpet and I tap the screen to see 3:30 and a flurry of messages before my screen goes dark.
“Shit,” I mumble. I haven’t charged it all day.
I manage to get to my feet and stretch my arms toward the still blades of the ceiling fan, brushing the wood with my fingertips as I grunt under my breath. My body is forever crooked. Just one night I’d like to experience sleep on an actual mattress with a real pillow and all of that memory foam crap. With my luck, my body would rebel and insist on curling itself into the twisted nightmare my spine is accustomed to.
I rub my eyes, my phone clutched in one fist. There are usually a couple of chargers plugged in around the kitchen, so I slide in my socks along the wood floors until I’m close enough to feel around the counter. My hand lands on someone’s phone screen, stirring it awake, and the glow lights up the room enough to help me unplug it and start charging mine.
“You reading my text messages?”
The pink glittery phone case registers in my brain as Hannah’s voice sounds behind me. I jump and spin around anyway, my heart racing to a thousand beats at getting caught.
“O-okay, we are going to need to put a bell on you,” I whisper through nervous laughter. I hold her phone against my chest, my arms and legs still numb with the burst of adrenaline.
“Like a cat?” She holds a palm out for her phone. I hand it to her and match her crooked smile.
“Yeah, something like that.”
My pulse settles back to its natural rhythm, but the beats still echo in my head. She’s wearing an oversized T-shirt from one of the tracks we went to in Nevada. That shirt—it’s it. That is all she is wearing. Her hair is split in two halves, each taking a shoulder. My hair? It’s standing straight up in the air. I can feel it. And Hannah can see it. Her eyes have traveled slowly up my face, the corners of her mouth rising when my wild hair comes in view.
“Oh, I bet that’s all kinds of crazy up there,” I say, palming my head with one hand before running the fingers of the other through my hair in an attempt to tame things.
“It’s electric,” she says, her lopsided grin still in place.
“Yeah, I bet.” I run both hands through my hair a few more times then give up. It is what it is.
“Trouble sleeping?” I lean against the counter, folding my arms over my chest. Hannah lifts herself up on the counter opposite me, sitting with her ankles crossed and her thighs exposed. My eyes can’t help themselves, making a small trip over her bare skin before coming home to her face. I swallow hard and dig my nails into my sides as my arms grow more rigid around my own chest.
“I forgot my phone was out here. I woke up in a panic because I couldn’t find it.”
I nod and smile at her honesty.
“Sad how dependent we are on these things, right?” I tap my screen to the right on the counter, showing off the red battery icon.
“Yeah,” she breathes out with a short laugh.
Her eyes hit mine and hold on for a few seconds. I’m not sure when looking at her became so challenging, but there’s no denying that chemistry between us is different now. It’s been this way for a while, and I’m not sure whether it crept up on me slowly or happened all at once.
Hannah is family. I have to keep reminding myself of those three important words.
“Were you warm enough?” She finally breaks the awkward quiet.
I furrow my brow, not sure what she means.
“You fell asleep on the couch. I covered you with my blanket.” She shrugs and her shoulders stiffen, almost as if she’s nervous and wants my approval that my stay here on the sofa was top-notch.
“Yeah, it was cozy. Thanks,” I say, relaxing the death grip I have on myself, moving my hands to the counter’s edge. Hannah covered me up. I wonder how many times it’s been her all along.
We exchange a few more awkward, tight-lipped smiles and she swings her legs forward and back with the building nervous energy. Her phone vibrates in her palm, giving both of us an out. I check the progress on mine while she reads her message. I’m trying to give her privacy but the heavy sigh that leaves her body brings my attention roaring back to her.
“What’s up?” I say, setting my phone back down on the counter. Four percent isn’t going to get me anywhere.
She’s cupping her phone and staring at the message, so I step closer and nod, silently asking permission to read her text. She turns the phone around and holds it out for me. I pause right in front of her and take it in my hands. I’m not sure who this BOSA guy is, or why he’s offering her fifty bucks, so I glance up with an arched brow.
“He wants me to take the bio test for him tomorrow. He sits right next to me.” Her shoulders sag as if she has no choice in this matter.
“He’s willing to give you fifty bucks to let him look at your paper?” Seems like a pretty sweet offer to me, but school’s never really been my thing. Hannah’s always been the smartest of our trio, which pisses Tommy off because he likes to think he’s the one with the brains.
Hannah’s head falls back with another heavy sigh, exposing the pale and tender skin of her throat. I catch my mouth hanging open at the sight. I right that shit before her chin falls forward and our eyes meet.
“It’s not that kind of test. I’d have to write things. Like, I’d take his paper and put it under mine and do both tests at the same time, in different handwriting,” she explains.
“Wow. That’s— You can do that?” I joke.
She kicks her feet forward, her toes punching me in my thighs. I grab her still-crossed ankles in front of my body, but I’m careful to let go fast. Her gaze slips anyhow, so I take a step back to build in some distance. I keep her phone, though.
“I’ve done it before,” she finally admits, glancing up at me through heavy lids. Her eyes slope at the sides with shame.
“Hey,” I pipe in, swinging one hand forward and brushing my fingertips lightly over her knee cap. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Do what?” She shrugs.
“Beat yourself up for making a profit on your skills.” I meet her gaze and hold on to it this time, unwilling to let go until she softens. Her lids flutter eventually and she blinks her focus off to the side.
“You think I would be hitting one-fifty in pitch black in the middle of nowhere every Friday night if I had smarts I could sell off instead?” I tilt my head to the side and wait for her eyes to come back to mine. When they finally do, we both quake with a short laugh and she nods.
“Yeah, Dust. I’m pretty sure you would,” she teases, kicking her legs forward again. I’m too far away for her to do more than taunt me.
“You’re right.” I shake my head. “I probably would.”
I glance down at her phone in my palm again.
“So who’s BOSA?”
“You know him. Michael Bosa.” She rattles out more details. “He’s been in my grade since fourth. He’s so lazy, but he plays baseball and if I didn’t help him pass classes he would never be eligible.”
“Oh. So this has been a long-term business arrangement.” I meet her guilty eyes again. I hold up a palm when her shoulders begin to lift. “No, no. I’m not judging. I just think—”
“What? That I’m a pushover?” she blurts out. She’s getting defensive.
“Hell, no!” That was probably a little loud, but I want my point to get across.
Hannah’s eyes widen and she presses a finger against her smiling lips.
“Shhh!”
I glance around the corner to peer up the stairs, holding my breath for a couple of seconds. When I don’t hear a sound or see lights come on, I come back to Hannah, letting myself stand a little closer than I was before.
Hannah’s palms rest on either side of the counter and she’s uncrossed her ankles. I probably would have noticed anyway, but she keeps flexing her feet
then pointing her toes, drawing my eyes down. I wonder if she can tell that I’m not looking at her phone screen but instead the soft pink polish on her toenails.
“You just think . . .” she echoes my words from a minute ago. I shake out of my trance and glance up. She’s leaning her head to one side and chewing at the inside of her cheek.
“Do you want to get out of this? Or do you want the money?” I lay her options out there, the way Colt would. I hate hearing myself talk like this but it’s maybe the only good thing to come out of my unfortunate birthright. Colt doesn’t get pushed around when it comes to business, and when he’s done dealing with someone, he lets them know. What’s strange is he isn’t even that big of a guy. He just has these crazy eyes and wild behavior that signals he isn’t the guy you mess with. I have those same vibes in me, when I want to show them.
“The money is nice.” Her admission squeaks out and her cheeks redden as her shoulders lift back up to her ears and her gaze falls.
I touch two of my fingers to the soft spot under her chin and lift it gently, coaxing her focus back to me. Sliding my feet forward a few more inches, her knees part to let me in closer. Heat races up my chest and down my legs, my cock flexing with that familiar hunger. I’m not supposed to feel that with this girl, but goddamn, do I right now.
I hold my tongue against the back of my teeth and steady my breath, letting my eyes drift to her lips for just a second. How fast I could ruin everything. Her legs part more. I don’t see it but I feel it at my sides. I know I’m smiling. Not like a huge boyish grin, but like a drunken high kind of smile. I feel it in my cheeks, even with my tongue pressed firming against the sharp edges of my teeth.
“I think it’s time you raise your price,” I utter.
My fingers slip from her chin to the phone I’m holding in the small space between us. I glance up to catch her waiting eyes.
“May I?” I ask.
“Mmm, yes,” she rasps.
I’m not sure if either of us knows whether my question and her answer are about me kissing her or me typing a message on her phone. Part of me meant it both ways, and I’d bet my Supra so did she.
Hannah is family.
My tongue passes over my top lip and I drop my eyes back down. This is getting hard. I’m getting hard. My thumbs feel like swollen grapes, and I have no idea if they’re going to work, but my brain tells them to type. Thankfully they get the message and sweep over her keyboard.
My price is $75 now.
I hit send and Hannah sucks in a sharp breath. We both stare at the flashing dots on her screen, and when this BOSA jackhole finally comes back with a short OK, we exhale in relief.
“Ha.” She breathes out a short laugh in disbelief.
I let my grin stretch the width of my face and hand her phone back to her, proud of my negotiating skills, not that there was a lot of negotiating to do. It was common sense. Hannah must be the only game in town for cheating, at least for this dude. If he’s desperate enough to pay five hunny, he’ll pay six.
“Thank you!” she whisper shouts, flinging her arms around me and squeezing me in a bear hug.
I let her, but I’m all too aware of how this looks and the inevitable moment coming in five, four, three . . .
Her arms loosen but don’t let go. She’s still clutching her phone in one hand but the other is free, fingers able to unfurl and stop at the base of my neck, which they do. We separate but don’t part, and her fingernails tickle against long hairs that curl at the base of my neck just as my hands part behind her back and retreat to her sides, then her hips and the tops of her thighs where her extra-large T-shirt suddenly feels incredibly small.
The sweetest breath escapes her lips as they part, and our eyes search amid the few inches between us until they meet. I feel the moment in the pit of my stomach, the kind of rush that I only ever get from crossing a finish line before everyone else.
Hannah is family.
My fingertips flirt with the hem of her shirt, rolling it up once, then twice. I’m testing how far she’ll let me go. When her thumb traces a straight line down my neck, dipping under my shirt and scratching my skin in a way that is so far from two friends embracing, I know that at this very moment, there is no line for me to cross. That line doesn’t exist. Not in this kitchen. Not right now.
The harsh reality of a door closing upstairs is the only thing that breaks us apart. And it happens fast.
I step back until my ass hits the counter’s edge behind me, my hands diving into my pockets for safekeeping—like jail. Hannah slips down from the counter, her shirt rolling up enough on her way down that I glimpse the lacey pink panties she’s wearing and the place where the fabric meets in the middle.
Fucking hell.
“Probably Tommy taking a piss,” I say, running my palm over my face while she scurries around the corner. She pauses with her hand on the wall and looks over her shoulder, her eyes not completely coming to me, though. Her mouth hangs open, and I swear that bottom lip quivers.
“Thanks, Dustin,” she finally utters.
“For what?”
Her eyes flit to me briefly, and she smiles on the side I can see.
“For getting me what I’m worth.” She winks then ducks around the corner, racing up the stairs before that bathroom door opens again.
I wait until the upstairs is completely silent again before I unplug my phone, borrowing the cord to take it out to my car to finish charging. No way I’m going back to sleep now. I’m too jacked to sort through and settle the bets coming in via text for Friday’s races, let alone sleep. I turn my key partway and shift my car into neutral, extending my leg out the door to kick my way backward down the driveway without rumbling the entire household awake. I stop when the tires dip into the street and I flick the headlights on to check the status of Hannah’s window. Curtains are drawn, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. It’s better if she doesn’t chase me, though, because I’ll get caught. Willingly. And that will fuck everything up.
I turn the key fully in the ignition and shift into drive, leaving the Judge house in the dust. Hopefully, I didn’t wake anyone on my way out. Even if I did, that’s a small price to pay to keep myself from blowing up the only family I have.
5
Seventy-five bucks feels good in my hands. It also feels dirty. Michael Bosa didn’t do shit to earn that C I got him on the bio test today. And yeah, I earned him a C instead of a B because this scam only works if I make it believable. I don’t think he’s ever gotten a grade higher than C in his entire life. The B is for me, and only because A’s don’t happen in here.
Honestly, what does it matter? Is forcing him to understand the differences between DNA and RNA going to somehow make him something other than a shortstop destined to flunk out of the college that picks him up? Probably not. And now, I’m seventy-five bucks richer.
I don’t know why that intake thing is important, but it meant a lot to Dustin that he was finally able to get it, and have it installed by Friday. This Friday, for whatever reason. The idea to get it back for him struck me after I left him in the kitchen last night.
After he helped with my negotiation.
After we almost—
Bailey is always the last one out of class, which means my car is the last one out of the school lot. Normally, it’s fine, because we don’t have anywhere to go. But today, I’m kinda in a hurry.
I stand on the hood of my car when I catch a glimpse of her hair in the last crowd of students spilling out the south exit. Dialing her number again, I hold my phone against my ear while waving my other hand in the air.
“Hello!” Logan, this jock asshole I have had way too many classes with, shouts, waving back while approaching me. He knows I’m not signaling for him, but the football players at this school like to think everything is about them. He sees it as an opening, which would be fine if his next move wasn’t going to be something totally aggressive or demeaning. His dumb smile is way too eager, so I lower my hand as I glar
e at him and flip him off before he gets too close.
“Pshh, fine. Fuck off then, Hannah Banana.” He has also called me that since fourth grade. He waves me off while his friends laugh and shove him off balance. I do my best to ignore the entire scene while they purposely slap the side of my car while they pass.
“Hey, what’s up?” Bailey finally answers.
“Hurry. There’s someplace I need to go.” I wave again while I bounce on my toes.
“Are you on your car?” She’s still walking slow, which is infuriating because beyond me telling her to hurry, clearly she can see I’m trying to rush her along.
“Yes, Bails, I’m on my car. I’m trying to get you to hurry!” I shout into the phone.
“Fine, geesh.” She hangs up on me but breaks into a jog which is a fair trade for making her a little bit mad.
I hop down from my car’s hood and get in, starting it up and backing out of my spot so I’m primed to get into the exit line. I take off toward it before my friend has a chance to shut the passenger door.
“Jesus, Hannah!” Bailey whines, over-exaggerating her fall toward me while she tugs her door closed.
“Sorry. We’re on a mission.” I pull my sunglasses from the visor and slip them on while we roll our windows down. I don’t have air conditioning in this thing, which is fine for half the year, but when the Arizona weather warms up, it’s downright brutal. In March, the weather is still close to perfect, so the windows go down the second we go anywhere.
“Okay, I forgive you,” my friend says. I swivel my head and meet her pursed lips and dimmed eyes. After a few seconds of silence, I bust out a laugh and squeeze her hand.
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” I admit. “I’m anxious, and I totally took that out on you.”
Her mouth curves just enough to soften her eyes, and soon, she’s laughing with me and squeezing my hand back.
“Okay, so what’s this mission? Where are we headed?” she asks.
I hand her the receipt from Earl’s.
“Oh, fun. An oil change place, yay.” Her words drawl out to showcase her sarcasm.