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“Yeah, baby.” I catch her lips with mine. “One of these nights.”
EVERLY
Ilay my head down against my knees, grab my feet, and flex my toes, enjoying the warm stretch of my muscles after our last three-hour dance practice before this weekend’s game. Our next game isMonday Night Footballagainst the team we lost the championship to last year. So the networks are making a huge deal out of it. That always puts Miss Cassabian into a tizzy. She’s been Kings cheerleading for twenty years, and she definitely missed her calling. She would have made a hell of a drill sergeant in another life.
She stands next to me, waiting as everyone else files out. “Plan on going home tonight, Miss Sinclair?”
My guilty conscious eats at me, but I pull myself up and slide my Uggs on. “Sorry, Miss Cassabian. My quad was bothering me a little, so I wanted to make sure I really stretched it out.” I grab my dance bag from the floor and throw my hoodie over my tank. “See you Monday.”
“Are you going to see that hockey beau of yours?” She follows behind me, shutting off the lights and locking the door.
“Miss C, you pay too much attention to the Kroydon Kronicles. I don’t have a new beau. And if I did, he’d be playing in a preseason game right now anyway.” A game he may haveinvited me to. Not that I feel guilty for skipping it. I mean, I can’t skip cheer practice for it. We’re only allowed to miss so many practices without being benched for a game. But I haven’t missed a single one this season. I probably could have asked to come late to this practice if I really wanted to.
“If you say so, dear. But I’d check your phone. The game’s over. The team lost,” she adds as I get into my car and do exactly what she said. I pull my phone out and google the Revolution. Cross scored once. Jace Kingston scored once. But Easton let in three goals. So they lost by one. Damn. Wouldn’t want to be Lindy when Easton gets home tonight.
Wouldn’t want to be Bellamy either. Cross and Ares are probably both miserable, if they’re anything like my family. Dad was never great at shaking off the losses. He wouldn’t take it out on us or anything at all like that. But he’d definitely take them out on himself. Mom was so happy when he retired last year.
Without overthinking it too much, I turn toward my parent’s house instead of our condo. Not long afterward, I pull into their driveway. Making sure to knock loudly before just letting myself in—because there’s an old family story about Grandpa and Grandma getting caught naked in their kitchen. And nobody needs their own repeat of that.
I knock once more, just to be sure, then I let myself in. “Mom...” I call out.
“In the kitchen,” she answers, and Dad pops his head out of his office.
“Hey, Evie. I didn’t know you were stopping by tonight.”
“Hi, Daddy. I needed to talk to Mom about something.” I stop by his door and kiss his cheek before making my way back to their kitchen. “Hey, Mom. Hey, Aunt Nat.”
“Hey, kid,” Aunt Nattie pats the seat next to her, then squeezes me when I sit down.
Mom takes another mug from the shelf and adds a tea bag to it before pouring hot water from the kettle and sitting it in front of me. “I was just making us a cup of tea. Do you want one?”
“It’s not decaf, right?”
“Daughter dearest, do you know me at all? The only bad part about being pregnant with all of you was giving up caffeine. And it was the only time in my life I’m ever going to do that. Now sit and tell me why you’re here.”
“Do I need to have a reason?” I add a few scoops of sugar and sip my tea.
Aunt Nattie laughs. “Yes. You forget we were your age once.”
Mom smiles. “Well, you’re drinking caffeine, so at least I know you’re not pregnant.”
“Mother,” I gasp. “Really?”
Nattie and she snicker behind their cups.
“Fine, I’d have to be having sex to be pregnant, and that’s not happening. So no, it’s safe to say I’m not pregnant.” I decide to add another spoonful of sugar, then look around her counter. “Do you have any sweets?”
“Seriously... do you know your mother at all?” Nattie feigns shock.
Mom pulls a carton of mint chocolate chip out of the freezer, then grabs three spoons.
“Ice cream and hot tea?” I ask as she hands out the spoons, and we tap them together like we’ve always done before digging in. “Why not?”
After a mouthful of minty chip goodness, I look across the counter at the way they’re both patiently waiting for me to spill my guts. “What are you two up to?”
“I was plotting my next book and wanted your mom’s advice. Your turn. What’s his name? What did he do? And can I use it in my next book?”
“Why does it have to be a guy?” I protest pitifully.
