Page 54 of Rhodes

Oh, absolutely not.

"We really don't." I sit up straighter and pull my knees in. "I was joking. That's all that was. We don't need some big summit meeting about it. It happened one time. It was weird, and we both said it was weird, and we don't need to make it into a thing."

"Okay."

"Because I know what this turns into if we let it. You'll get all serious, I'll get defensive, and then we can't split a pizza without it being loaded." I keep my voice flat and easy. "I like living here. You're not a nightmare to live with, as it turns out. I don't want to blow that up over one strange minute."

"So we don't. A blip." He nods, slow, thinking it over like it's a real word with real weight.

"Exactly."

"Deal."

And then, God help me, he sticks out his hand. I look at it hanging there. A handshake, as if we've just agreed on the price of a used truck, like there's a title to sign, like the correct way to close out one mistake kiss is a firm, businesslike shake.

It's so stupid I take it anyway.

His palm closes over mine, warm and dry and enormous, calluses catching against my knuckles, and it goes off like a struck match. Heat shoots straight up the inside of my arm. My breath drops out from under me.

I don't move. He doesn't either. His grip is even and controlled, and I can't read one single thing off his face, so I have no idea if that just went one direction or the other.

I'm the one who lets go.

"Settled," I say.

"Settled." He stands, easy as anything, and slides the phone into his pocket. "I gotta go set up. Cards, chairs. They'll be here in an hour. I thought you wouldn't be back until later?"

"Library was packed. I have a lot of homework to get done, so…"

"Cool. Hopefully we won't be too loud."

"I might come out and show your idiot friends how the game's actually played."

"Deuce counts cards in his head and still loses. Come take his money."

"I intend to."

And then he's gone, down the hall, and I hear him start pulling chairs across the floor.

I open my laptop again.

The same algebra problem is waiting for me.

I read it twice and still have no idea what the hell it's asking.

FIFTEEN

Rhodes

Hairline Cracks: Plaster cracks constantly, and most of it means nothing at all. The same wall and the same width of line can also mean the ground beneath the house has moved, and only a trained eye will tell you which one you are looking at.

Ford shoulders through the door first, because Ford always shoulders through the door first, a case of beer in one hand and his mouth already going.

"Whose truck is blocking the driveway? I had to park on the grass like an animal."

"That's the roommate’s,” Nash says behind him. "Rhodes-y is playing house with Coop's little sister."

"Not funny, Nash," I say. He doesn't say another word.