Ryan presses his lips into a Joker smile, and we laugh, and for a moment, with all three of us wearing goofy grins, it feels how it used to, years ago. We spent so many hours on my parents’ couch fighting over snacks, making one another laugh and rant and rock-paper-scissors to decide which loser had to grab another round of juice boxes. A lot of the old times weren’t so bad.
“Fine,” I say. “Homicidal fun it is.”
We settle back, and we’re less than halfway through the moviewhen Ryan’s head lands on my shoulder. He’s fast asleep, which is strange. I can count on one hand the number of times my brother’s fallen asleep during a movie. He’s always bewilderingly energetic, even late into the night. Here, though, he seems to be putting far more of that energy into his work. Happily.
As I shift to make him more comfortable, Penn laughs. Seconds later, I get a text.
Shall we let Sleeping Beauty rest?
We shall.
Maybe I can get back to my plan, after all.
We tiptoe around Ryan, Penn grabbing a bag of Twizzlers while I snag a bottle of emotional-support tequila. If ever there was a time for liquid courage, this is it.
Upstairs, Penn suggests we get some fresh air, so I follow him outside, grateful for a pleasantly cool evening and a spectacular backyard.
String lights stretch across the lawn and over the pools, their reflection flickering like fireflies in the water’s surface. Penn snatches a brightly colored plaid blanket off the porch and sets it on the grass. He gestures for me to go first, so I sit down, and Penn lies beside me, one broad hand beneath his head.
It feels strange to sit while he’s lying down. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe, because of my plan, I’m overthinking it.
I’m definitely overthinking it. And struggling to breathe normally.
Bridget’s voice fills my head:Aren’t you ever assertive?
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then lie beside Penn, staring up at a sky full of stars, the air still and quiet except for the leaves rustling overhead.
I can’t believe I thought the basement felt romantic.
Penn cuts through the silence with a laugh. “Top-shelf tequila, huh?” He side-eyes the bottle I’ve set at my feet. “Planning to rip some shots there, Tiger?”
I face him, fighting a grin. His stare glitters in the dark.
Flirting is just teasing with eye contact,Bridget had said.
Coyly, I say, “I didn’t know what kind of night you wanted this to be.”
The line is intentionally loaded, but Penn only stares back, clearly confused.
Defeated, I reach into the bag of Twizzlers. “You used to hate these,” I remind him, swinging one around. “You said they taste like crayons, which is concerning on a few levels.”
Penn laughs. “Tastes can change.”
“Not mine.”
“C’mon. You’re telling me there’s nothing—not one thing—that’s grown on you over the years?”
He looks at me, waiting for an answer, and my mind conjures images from the past few days against my will: Penn shirtless at the dinner table, smirking as he adjusts that ridiculous scarf-bib. Penn making Mrs. Baker laugh. Penn pinned beneath me, the disco lights dancing across his face.
“Ruby?”
I jolt back into the moment, his eyes still steady on mine.
If you want Penn to see you differently, you need to act differently.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I can probably think of…something…that’s grown on me.” His brows lift, prompting me to elaborate. “Like…cucumbers.”
Penn’s lips twitch. “Cucumbers.”
