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“Dad!” Cassandra presses her hand against my side, trying to get me to move. “You know what? I think they’ve finally lost their minds. Let’s go back home.”
“Home?” her mom gasps. “You’re living with him?”
Cassandra stares up at me and whispers, “Help.”
“But you’re doing such a good job,” I whisper back.
The corner of her mouth twitches.
Then the door across the hall swings open.
“Is that my Cassie?” An ancient man steps into the hallway.
“Hey, Harold.” Cassandra lifts a hand and waves.
Unlike the Cantrells, Harold notices me immediately. “Well, well, well.” He folds his skinny arms across his chest. “You my competition, then?”
I dip my chin.
“You willing to fight for her?” He narrows his eyes, bunching his bushy brows on his forehead.
I make a show of clenching my right hand into a fist. “I’ve never punched a geriatric, but I’m not strictly against it.”
Harold grins widely. “I like you.” He leans to the side to look at Cassandra’s parents. “I like him.”
“We like him too,” Mrs. Cantrell replies, pretending they know who I am.
Cassandra snorts, and then something starts to beep inside the apartment.
“Okay, okay, everyone in.” Mr. Cantrell steps back from the door and waves us into their apartment. “That’s the egg bake.”
“I’ve got it,” Mrs. Cantrell calls over her shoulder as she hurries toward the kitchen.
“Alright, kids, take your shoes off, then come eat.” Cassandra’s dad follows after his wife, and I notice they’re wearing matching red slippers.
My body is still a bit sore from the last job, so it takes some work not to groan as I lower down to one knee and start untying my first boot.
Cassandra drops her purse onto the floor, then bends to untie her tennis shoes.
“They seem nice.” I can’t help myself.
We’re nearly eye level like this, so I can perfectly see the expression she gives me as she deadpans, “They seem insane.”
“That too.” I smirk, then switch so I’m on the other knee.
Cassandra shakes her head, moving to untie the other shoe. But as she does, she turns more of her back to me.
Bent at the waist, the back of her skirt has come up so far I can see the bottom half of her lacy white undies.
“That’sone, Butterfly.”
Cassandra turns her head toward me at my low words and sees where I’m looking.
She snaps to standing, smoothing her skirt down. “Sorry.”
My fingers itch to slide up the back of her bare thigh. To feel that lace under my hand. But I can’t right now. Because her parents are just feet away.
I stand and leave my boots next to her tennis shoes, the size difference as extreme as our height difference.
