Page 169 of Knot Their Starlet

“What?” The worn leather of the steering wheel creaks under my grip. I was an asshole back then, so I probably deserve anything she says about my less than stellar behavior.

“I was jealous of how protective you were over Beck. I thought, ‘Damn, wouldn’t it be nice to have my own massive, jacked, hot, guard dog?’ and look at us now.” She’s practically beaming at me, her smile big and bright in a way that melts away the last lingering walls around my heart.

“Look at us now,” I repeat softly, dragging my eyes away from her and back to the road. “Now you’re my bodyguard.”

“You know that’s right,” she teases, flexing her arm.

“You do know there’s nothing there when you do that.”

“Shut up! I hit Pilates, there’s something there!”

“You’re cute.”

“And you’re a dick.”

I pull the truck over in front of my childhood home. The silence that fills the cab when I turn off the engine threatens to suffocate me.

“Well, even if you think I’m cute, I can still be a good guard dog. Chihuahuas are vicious.”

Her comparing herself to a Chihuahua is exactly what I need to find the courage to get out of the car.

“Let’s do this.”

I let out a huff of frustration when she opens her car door herself.

“What?” she asks, her brows drawn down in confusion.

“Let me open your fuckin’ door for you.”

“You’re... being a dick about me not letting you open my door?”

I don’t know why I’m clinging to the idea of being a gentleman so much. Probably because a gentleman is the exact opposite of what my Pops is.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“You’re funny,” she says, grinning up at me.

I walk over the yellow, dead grass of the front lawn with Andi following behind me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been back here.

Years, really. Even longer since I’ve spent the night.

And here I am, ringing the doorbell and waiting for the door to open like the people inside are complete strangers.

“Eli!” my momma says with a tired smile.

“Hey, Momma,” I say, leaning forward and kissing her cheeks.

Her gaze instantly drops to Andi, who offers a little wave. I try to see her through my mom’s eyes. Does Andi look like the kind of girl I’d bring home? Because that’s what’s happening here, technically.

The realization strikes me. Andi is the first girl I’ve ever brought home.

“And this is?”

“Hi there, Mrs. Castillo. My name is Andi. I’m⁠—”

I reach down and tug her hand into mine. The touch makes her words falter, and she stares down at it and then up at my eyes like I’ve grown a third head.