AllFreeNovel
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“Hey! Low blow. You’re twenty, and I’m still a kid.”
Sort of. I only pull the kid card when it benefits me, and God forbid someone calls me a child when I’m trying to earn privileges or appear older than I am.
“Perfect. Kids love being tickled.” Brant reaches around and starts tickling me, his fingers dancing over my ribs until I shriek, then surrender.
Damn it—every time.
He continues to tickle me, even as I slide off his back and try to escape, my giggles escalating as I writhe and squirm amid the onslaught. “Stop!” I squeal, my lungs gasping for air.
And then my lungs feel like they’re actually gasping for air.
“Wait, wait…st-stop,” I pant, trying to catch my breath.
Brant must notice the shift in mood because he instantly releases me. “Whoa, you okay, Junebug? Did I hurt you?”
“No, I…” My hand lifts to massage my chest, and I’m drenched in confusion and mild embarrassment. It feels like my lungs aren’t filling with air fast enough. While I noticed a similar feeling at dance practice the prior week, I brushed it off. I’d been getting over a little cold, so I figured that was why. When my heart rate starts to decelerate, I finally inhale a satisfying lungful, my nerves subsiding. “Sorry, I just got a little winded there.”
Brant props a finger under my chin, tilting my head up until we’re eye to eye. There’s worry etched into every crease, every shadow, every pore. His gaze tracks over my face, trying to read me, trying to put the pieces together until he’s confident the threat has passed. A breath leaves him as he lowers his finger. “I don’t like that.”
His irises glow with affection and a trace of unease, the sunlight causing the green flecks to glint brighter than the brown. I’m lost in the sepia swirl for a moment before I duck my head, crossing my arms over my chest. “It was nothing. I’m fine.” Forcing a smile, I slug him gently on the shoulder. “Nothing to worry about. You may have won this battle, but you’ll never win the war.”
My teasing falls on deaf ears, though; the tension is too high, the concern still heavy in his stare.
I bite my lip, trying to think of something else to say. “You know—”
“Hey. Brant.”
Brant looks over my shoulder, then moves past me. “All finished?”
Swiveling around, I trail behind Brant as he makes his way to the patio, where the friend working on his car hovers in the doorway. The guy is a grease bucket, with stringy black hair, oil on his skin, and a lecherous look in his ruddy eyes when he notices me approaching.
I fiddle with the hem of my halter top, only to realize the gesture pulls the man’s attention to my exposed midriff.
I’m not sure if it’s intentional or subconscious, but Brant moves in front of me as if to block the guy’s view. “What do I owe you?”
Skeevy dude coughs into his fist, then swipes his dirty hands along his jeans. “Two-fifty.”
“Great. I’ll meet you out front with cash.”
I hang back, playing with the split ends of my braid, half watching as the man nods and disappears into the house. “He seems like—”
“He’s not my friend,” Brant declares, his back still facing me, his focus on the patio door. “He’s just some auto mechanic I know through Phil.”
“Oh…” I blink, not understanding the point. “So?”
“So,” he says, finally pivoting toward me and pinning his eyes on mine. He swallows, his irises darkening like storm clouds in the desert. “I wouldn’t be friends with someone who looks at you like that.”
My heart flutters with a peculiar feeling as I chew on my cheek. Clearing the tickle from my throat, I murmur, “Okay.”
He holds my gaze for a single heartbeat, then turns around to head inside.
“Be right back!” I exclaim, setting down my red Solo cup filled with iced tea. The sky is gray and dusky, laden with clouds and disappearing daylight. Tiki torches and string lights illuminate the patio as my group of friends mingle and dance to the pop music radiating from Dad’s fancy speakers. He let me borrow them so I didn’t have to waste my cell phone battery.
It’s halfway through the party, so I skip upstairs for a bathroom break. Brant is in the living room with Mom and Dad, binge-watching Breaking Bad, but I know he’s only half paying attention. The other half is tuned in to the party and, more specifically, my particular involvement in said party. I’m almost positive he installed secret cameras outside and is checking the footage on his phone to make sure I’m not being drugged or date-raped or participating in beer bongs or body shots.
Or the Nae Nae dance.
He’d find that equally unacceptable.
