Once the room’s filled with darkness, I say, “I don’t bring girls home because it’s Dad’s rules and I respect that.” I look over at her, but the only thing I can make out is the outline of her body. “Maybe I just miss hanging out with you.” I shift to my side and try to get more comfortable, but it’s cold in the room, and this couch isn’t what it used to be. “Laney?”
“What?” she snaps. She’s angry. She’s so cute when she’s angry.
“I’m cold.”
“Suck it up, Princess Asshole.”
“You’re mean.”
She sighs loudly as she shuffles around in her bed, and before she even offers, I’m on my feet, pillow in hand, walking toward her. “I’m the absolute opposite of mean, especially when it comes to you.”
I allow myself to smile because I know she can’t see me. Then I throw my pillow on her bed and climb under the covers with her. It’s a game we play, over and over. A game I always win. I turn to my side and face her back. “Laney?”
“What?”
“I’m still cold. Can I cuggles?” Only with Laney would I ever use Lachlan’s toddler talk. Not just because it’s lame, but because she’s the only one who understands it.
She huffs, annoyed, but still, she scoots back until her body’s pressed against mine. I put one arm under her pillow and the other over her waist.
“You’re freezing,” she says, her tone clipped.
“Well, yeah, your room’s an ice chest.”
“You’re the most cold-blooded person I know.”
I laugh under my breath, pull her closer, use her body heat to warm me. “That’s an unfair assumption. How many guys have you let hold you like this?”
She doesn’t respond. In fact, she’s silent for so long I start to second-guess my words. Was that mean? Maybe it was. Even if it is true. “Sorry,” I say because I’ve been with enough girls to know that a single word can save any and all future drama.
“It’s fine. I need to sleep and you need to shut up.”
“Got it.” I shift closer.
“Did you drink tonight?” she asks.
“Yep. Three light beers. 435 calories. I should be able to burn it off tomorrow morning. Ten miles… fifteen minutes, plus what I normally run.”
She sighs. “Did you drive here?”
“If I drove, I’d have my keys, and if I had my keys, I would’ve let myself in and I wouldn’t have been standing—”
“Sorry I asked,” she cuts in.
“You’re so snappy tonight. What’s going on with you?”
She turns over and faces me, her eyes still closed. “I’m tired.”
Reaching behind me, I switch on the lamp, knocking her glasses off the nightstand. After replacing them, I turn back to her. And I try to read her—the same way I’ve seen my sister’s boyfriend do with her. “If something’s going on, you’d tell me, right?
Her eyes flutter open. First one, then the other. The corner of her lips lift, and I know I’ve said the right thing. Her forehead meets my chest and her toes tickle mine. The smell of her shampoo hits my nostrils: coconuts, lime, and Laney.
I don’t know how long we lie there, the lamp still on, my hand on her waist, her head on my chest before my stomach rumbles, slicing through the sound of our mixed breaths. She laughs once, her exhale warming me. “You hungry?” she asks, tilting her head back to look at me.
I’m not sure how much of me she can see without her glasses, but the contacts I’m wearing allow me to see all of her; the freckles across her nose, the scar below her right eyebrow, the fullness of her lips… I’ve tasted those lips. Accidentally, but it still counts. It was Christmas. We were fifteen. I went to kiss her cheek. She went to kiss mine. Our lips touched. She tasted like strawberries, and to this day I can’t look or smell a strawberry without thinking of Laney’s full lips.
“Luke?”
“Huh?” Fuck, I’m a creep.
“You want me to make you something?”
I swallow loudly and look at anywhere but her. “Is that okay?”
Laney throws the covers off both of us, then reaches over me to get her glasses. “I’m awake now anyway.”
“You should make your own sandwiches,” she mumbles, cutting the bread in triangles as if I’m Lachlan. Her eyebrows are drawn. She’s annoyed. She’s cute when she’s annoyed. She’s cute always.
I swing my legs back and forth while I sit on the kitchen counter watching her. “Last time I did that, you almost puked at what I put in there.”
She hands me the plate and moves to the fridge. “Pickles and peanut butter are not…” she trails off. “That’s just gross, Luke.” Opening the door, she asks, “Water or soda?”
“Water.”
I catch the bottle she throws at my head, then freeze when I hear her front door open. “Is that your dad?”
She shrugs. “Probably.”
I look at the clock on their microwave and with a mouthful of food, I ask, “It’s 1:30 in the morning. Where’s he been?”
Laney leans back on the counter next to me, her arms crossed. “On a date.”
“Lois, is that you?” Brian calls out from the hallway.
She doesn’t respond.
“I thought I heard voices.” He peeks into the kitchen, a smile forming when he sees me. “Lucas,” he says in greeting.
Before I can respond, Laney says to him, “Young man. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Brian laughs.
I chuckle.
Then Laney says, “I’ve been up all night worried sick!” And I can no longer tell if she’s kidding.
Brian rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”
“You could have called,” Laney says.
Her dad slips into the room. “I said I was sorry,” he whines dramatically.
Laney giggles.
Oh, so she is kidding. Man, I suck at reading her.
Brian says, looking between us, “Let me guess how your night went. You”—he points to Laney—“stayed home and watched TV or knitted a scarf, and you”—his finger moves to me—“went drinking at a party and came knocking on my daughter’s door.”
I take a sip of the water and jump off the counter. “And you,” I say, pointing to him, “went on a date?”
“I did,” he says, lifting his chin.
“So…” I sway from side to side teasingly. “What’s her name? What does she do?”
“Her name’s Misty.”
“Oh,” I say through a chuckle. “Is she a stripper?”
Laney slaps the back of my head. “Luke!”
Brian laughs. “She’s sure got the body of one.”
“Dad!”
“What?!” Brian and I say at the same time. Then he adds, his eyebrows lifting, “She’s a police officer. Handcuffs and all.”
“Dad!” Laney shouts.
“Nice.” I high-five him. Brian and I had gotten close over the years. Besides the family get-togethers and ball games, I guess he found it necessary to get to know the kid who was constantly knocking on their front door and asking to see his daughter. It’s not a bad thing. At all. I like Brian and I hope to God he likes me. He has to, right? I mean, there’s a reason he’s permitting my knocking on Laney’s door at all hours of the night and getting into bed with her. Well, the bed part he probably doesn’t know about. We always make sure the couch looks slept in.
“What?” she snaps. She’s angry. She’s so cute when she’s angry.
“I’m cold.”
“Suck it up, Princess Asshole.”
“You’re mean.”
She sighs loudly as she shuffles around in her bed, and before she even offers, I’m on my feet, pillow in hand, walking toward her. “I’m the absolute opposite of mean, especially when it comes to you.”
I allow myself to smile because I know she can’t see me. Then I throw my pillow on her bed and climb under the covers with her. It’s a game we play, over and over. A game I always win. I turn to my side and face her back. “Laney?”
“What?”
“I’m still cold. Can I cuggles?” Only with Laney would I ever use Lachlan’s toddler talk. Not just because it’s lame, but because she’s the only one who understands it.
She huffs, annoyed, but still, she scoots back until her body’s pressed against mine. I put one arm under her pillow and the other over her waist.
“You’re freezing,” she says, her tone clipped.
“Well, yeah, your room’s an ice chest.”
“You’re the most cold-blooded person I know.”
I laugh under my breath, pull her closer, use her body heat to warm me. “That’s an unfair assumption. How many guys have you let hold you like this?”
She doesn’t respond. In fact, she’s silent for so long I start to second-guess my words. Was that mean? Maybe it was. Even if it is true. “Sorry,” I say because I’ve been with enough girls to know that a single word can save any and all future drama.
“It’s fine. I need to sleep and you need to shut up.”
“Got it.” I shift closer.
“Did you drink tonight?” she asks.
“Yep. Three light beers. 435 calories. I should be able to burn it off tomorrow morning. Ten miles… fifteen minutes, plus what I normally run.”
She sighs. “Did you drive here?”
“If I drove, I’d have my keys, and if I had my keys, I would’ve let myself in and I wouldn’t have been standing—”
“Sorry I asked,” she cuts in.
“You’re so snappy tonight. What’s going on with you?”
She turns over and faces me, her eyes still closed. “I’m tired.”
Reaching behind me, I switch on the lamp, knocking her glasses off the nightstand. After replacing them, I turn back to her. And I try to read her—the same way I’ve seen my sister’s boyfriend do with her. “If something’s going on, you’d tell me, right?
Her eyes flutter open. First one, then the other. The corner of her lips lift, and I know I’ve said the right thing. Her forehead meets my chest and her toes tickle mine. The smell of her shampoo hits my nostrils: coconuts, lime, and Laney.
I don’t know how long we lie there, the lamp still on, my hand on her waist, her head on my chest before my stomach rumbles, slicing through the sound of our mixed breaths. She laughs once, her exhale warming me. “You hungry?” she asks, tilting her head back to look at me.
I’m not sure how much of me she can see without her glasses, but the contacts I’m wearing allow me to see all of her; the freckles across her nose, the scar below her right eyebrow, the fullness of her lips… I’ve tasted those lips. Accidentally, but it still counts. It was Christmas. We were fifteen. I went to kiss her cheek. She went to kiss mine. Our lips touched. She tasted like strawberries, and to this day I can’t look or smell a strawberry without thinking of Laney’s full lips.
“Luke?”
“Huh?” Fuck, I’m a creep.
“You want me to make you something?”
I swallow loudly and look at anywhere but her. “Is that okay?”
Laney throws the covers off both of us, then reaches over me to get her glasses. “I’m awake now anyway.”
“You should make your own sandwiches,” she mumbles, cutting the bread in triangles as if I’m Lachlan. Her eyebrows are drawn. She’s annoyed. She’s cute when she’s annoyed. She’s cute always.
I swing my legs back and forth while I sit on the kitchen counter watching her. “Last time I did that, you almost puked at what I put in there.”
She hands me the plate and moves to the fridge. “Pickles and peanut butter are not…” she trails off. “That’s just gross, Luke.” Opening the door, she asks, “Water or soda?”
“Water.”
I catch the bottle she throws at my head, then freeze when I hear her front door open. “Is that your dad?”
She shrugs. “Probably.”
I look at the clock on their microwave and with a mouthful of food, I ask, “It’s 1:30 in the morning. Where’s he been?”
Laney leans back on the counter next to me, her arms crossed. “On a date.”
“Lois, is that you?” Brian calls out from the hallway.
She doesn’t respond.
“I thought I heard voices.” He peeks into the kitchen, a smile forming when he sees me. “Lucas,” he says in greeting.
Before I can respond, Laney says to him, “Young man. Do you have any idea what time it is?”
Brian laughs.
I chuckle.
Then Laney says, “I’ve been up all night worried sick!” And I can no longer tell if she’s kidding.
Brian rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Mom.”
“You could have called,” Laney says.
Her dad slips into the room. “I said I was sorry,” he whines dramatically.
Laney giggles.
Oh, so she is kidding. Man, I suck at reading her.
Brian says, looking between us, “Let me guess how your night went. You”—he points to Laney—“stayed home and watched TV or knitted a scarf, and you”—his finger moves to me—“went drinking at a party and came knocking on my daughter’s door.”
I take a sip of the water and jump off the counter. “And you,” I say, pointing to him, “went on a date?”
“I did,” he says, lifting his chin.
“So…” I sway from side to side teasingly. “What’s her name? What does she do?”
“Her name’s Misty.”
“Oh,” I say through a chuckle. “Is she a stripper?”
Laney slaps the back of my head. “Luke!”
Brian laughs. “She’s sure got the body of one.”
“Dad!”
“What?!” Brian and I say at the same time. Then he adds, his eyebrows lifting, “She’s a police officer. Handcuffs and all.”
“Dad!” Laney shouts.
“Nice.” I high-five him. Brian and I had gotten close over the years. Besides the family get-togethers and ball games, I guess he found it necessary to get to know the kid who was constantly knocking on their front door and asking to see his daughter. It’s not a bad thing. At all. I like Brian and I hope to God he likes me. He has to, right? I mean, there’s a reason he’s permitting my knocking on Laney’s door at all hours of the night and getting into bed with her. Well, the bed part he probably doesn’t know about. We always make sure the couch looks slept in.
