Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “The people closing the parks down,” I said, then gripped her chin, bringing her lips close. “I bet you taste like snow.”

  She sputtered.

  Then shoved me off. “Ten feet Flip! I bet you’re used to girls falling into bed with you, being the famous Flip. But that’s not going to happen.”

  “They don’t fall, exactly.” I rubbed my neck. “I’m curious why you keep pushing me away.”

  She raised a brow. “Because there has to be some great reason why a girl doesn’t want you?”

  No, but I want to know why this girl doesn’t. Her blue eyes softened like the sky at sunset as if she knew my thoughts.

  She cleared her throat, raised the bag of spray paint. “So, uh, are we going to be delinquents?”

  I pushed open the gate.

  The lights were on but it was Friday night, if the windows weren’t swarming with people then they were at a party somewhere farther down the street.

  “This place is massive,” she said. “I thought Patchwork was big.”

  “It’s even bigger inside.”

  “You’ve been inside?” Tweetie did a double take as I set the bag down, reaching for a can and handing her one. I wasn’t sure how to get out of what I’d just slipped, so I shrugged, acting like it was no big deal. I started to show her how to use it when she cut me off.

  “I may not break a lot of laws, but I do live at Patchwork. This isn’t my first rodeo.” I hid my grin as she uncapped the lid and drew a long, bright pink line. “Did you know that I was the one who put those murals on the wall? Well…I was there. It was my idea. Romeo painted my vision—except for the birds, that was their present to me after I almost left Patchwork when I was a kid.”

  “You almost left Patchwork?” If I sounded shocked, she must not have noticed. I was only aware of her leaving once.

  She shrugged. “I felt like a burden. So I packed my shit and left. They found me. They always find me. They said if they were Rebel Gods, then I was their goddess. It was stupid, but it made me feel better.”

  I didn’t know that. How could I not know that?

  “It also meant Romeo called me the goddess of morning breath forever. Not that I have bad breath—” she added quickly, shooting me wide eyes. “I have amazing breath in the morning…” She trailed off, shoulders sloped. I still couldn’t believe she’d left once before.

  When I’d gone too long without speaking, she eyed me.

  I quickly spoke. “Why four if there are only three gods?”

  She paused with the spray paint. “It will sound weird.”

  “Even better.”

  “I dreamed him up. The guys told me he wasn’t real, but he felt so real. There was one night I was certain he was real…anyway, I made them paint him.” She eyed me. “Kinda looks like you now that I think about it. Probably because I was such a huge fan. Maybe you should be a god.”

  She laughed, and after a second of being frozen, I coughed a laugh into my fist.

  I leaned with my back to the wall, arms folded. Watching her. She was laser-focused on her task but kept sneaking looks at me, and then when she found me watching her, would focus even harder on spray painting. Almost like she was nervous.

  “You’ve got secrets, Flip.” She shook the can, drawing another line. “Like I know the reason you stopped skateboarding isn’t because you felt pressured.” My brows lifted. “Maybe if you tell me one, I might share.”

  I shifted closer. “Do you have a secret in mind, Tweetie?”

  “Well, you know why I skate…” She trailed off like there was more to it. I’d always wondered why that little girl showed up at the skate park. It was one of those what could have been different answers. What if she’d gone a different day? What if I hadn’t been there?

  And it was me. I was the reason she was there.

  Fuck.

  If that isn’t the worst best answer to ever hear.

  “And if your story is true, you know why I skate too,” I said, hoping that would be the end of it.

  She stopped spraying, turning to me, meeting eyes. “But what were you escaping?”

  Well, shit.

  Tweetie turned back with a sigh when I took too long to answer. “Fine, but I’m keeping my secrets too.”

  “Family,” I said. Or rather, that I had none. “The first time I picked up a board I was seven, the day my grandma died. I never knew my dad and my mom always had a revolving door of losers. She eventually followed one out the door. After that, the streets were more than an escape. They were home.”

  She paused, and I could tell she was trying to think of the best thing to say.

  I didn’t want to hear it.

  “This is fading,” I mused, touching the mark on her neck. Goose bumps pricked my finger as I feathered my touch along her neck. “I’ll have to fix that.”

  She jumped back, hands high. “Ten feet Flip.”

  I stepped back on a laugh.

  “Do you miss them?” she asked after a minute. “The people you called family, the ones after On Angel Wings.”

  “They don’t miss me.”

  “I didn’t ask that.”

  I looked at the enormous powder blue house, at the window I’d slept behind for years. “Yeah. I miss them.” She worked her jaw like she wanted to say more, but I was done digging into my past.

  “So goddess of morning breath, huh?” I said on a grin. Her face reddened and she spray-painted harder. “You owe me a secret, goddess.”

  “I’m painting you my answer.” She drew an arch high above her lines, emphasizing her point.

  “I didn’t ask you anything.”

  “It’s what really you want to know, though.” She waggled her brows and I couldn’t help my laugh. I liked being with Tweetie this way, seeing her out of the shadows.

  “But I should still get to ask. It’s only fair.” She waved her aluminum can like, go ahead. “So…you must hate that you had to live at Patchwork.”

  “That’s what you want to know? Easy. I loved it.”

  “Don’t you wish you could have had a normal childhood?”

  It looked like she was about to laugh. It took a minute or two for her to collect her face.

  “My dad was an addict,” she said. “So was my mom. Not really Sesame Street.”

  I think I stared too long because she paused, insecurity growing on her features. “What?”

  “I didn’t know that.” I couldn’t stop myself from sounding blown away. How did I miss something so huge? I thought I knew everything about her, at least, all the big things. I always thought Tweetie had a normal life. A happy life. And I’d ripped it away from her.

  She narrowed her eyes. “How could you?”

  I cleared my throat and quickly picked up a can, finally taking to the wall.

  TWEETIE

  “That’s a dick,” I said, examining the wall.

  “I’m a real Michelangelo, huh?” He smiled, and god, my face must have gone stupid because I know my brain did. It was unfair for someone to be so hot.

  “Yours is…a heart?” He arched a brow. “Are you saying you’re going to give me the secret to your heart? I’m all ears, Tweetie.”

  I shoved him and he smiled.

  “I’m saying, the reason I’m not falling into your bed is true love. I’m waiting for it.” He bit his smile off. “I also don’t want to be called a pro ho and I want to focus on skateboarding, but really, true love.”

  He folded his arms, leaning back against the wall, eyes probing. “How do you know I’m not it?”

  “I have a checklist.”

  “A checklist?”

  I nodded. “It’s foolproof. There’s only been one boy who ever met it.” Well, almost met it. The older I get, the more insane I think I am, especially now that there’s a living, breathing, beautiful boy threatening everything I’ve ever felt.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “You already know one. No skaters.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And the
other two?”

  “No one from Patchwork.”

  “So I’ve already met two of the requirements. What’s the last one?”

  “Before I, um, do anything, it has to be true love.” When I wrote it, I said no kissing, but I was sixteen. I’ve since amended it.

  He rolled on his shoulder, getting his hoodie covered in spray paint until he was inches from my face. My jaw tightened with nerves. How was it that just a simple change in proximity had the ability to steal my breath, scramble my heart rate?

  Flip grasped my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  The world slowed until there was nothing but his touch and his burning eyes. My mouth parted and his eyes dropped to my lips. His grip tightened a fraction of an inch, such a small movement, but so purposeful, like thin wire being pulled to its snapping point.

  “You don’t know this yet,” he said, “but you’re in love with me.”

  Laughter. The gate creaking. Someone stumbling and more laughter.

  Both our heads shot in the direction of the noise. Whoever owned this home had returned.

  “Do you know the first rule of skateboarding?” Flip asked. I think my heart stopped—I hadn’t heard anyone ask me that in years—but if Flip noticed, he didn’t let on. He didn’t answer his question with words but pushed me off the porch. I landed with a thud, then Flip joined me. He made a shh motion with his finger, and we crawled underneath the porch, barely fitting, forced to lie flat, his chest pressed against my back.

  Then they were above us.

  Oh, what in god’s name?

  Call the police.

  One walked away, but the other was still there.

  “You’re going to get me arrested,” I said, but joy and excitement coursed like Christmas lights through my veins.

  “Well you always had awful taste in boys,” he whispered against my hair. My eyes grew. How could he even know that?

  “Are you counting yourself among them?” I meant it sarcastically, and it epically backfired.

  “Yes.”

  I couldn’t breathe.

  It wasn’t the police, it was Flip. We were close, much too close. When we were separated by a room or even a few feet, it was easier to pretend. Now everything was up close, intertwined. I could feel his heartbeat at my back, his lips at the shell of my ear. If I moved, our shirts rubbed against our flesh.

  In the distance two police cars pulled to the curb, quickly finding the owner of the house.

  This was real, very, very real.

  “So who was the boy?” Flip whispered against my ear. Now? When the police could find us in minutes? He nudged me when I didn’t respond. “The great love of your life?”

  “I never got his name,” I lied. Nate. His name was Nate. Nate had only been in my life for two nights over the course of two years. Could I really say that equaled love?

  I don’t know.

  But it was enough time for him to burrow himself into my heart.

  Flip tsked. “How am I supposed to fight him for you if I don’t even have his name?”

  I blushed, biting my lip, and he threw his head back, groaning; a sound that went straight to my gut and was much too loud.

  Did you hear that?

  I elbowed his stomach. Mistake! Abs—Rock. Solid. Abs.

  “Not playing fair, Tweetie,” he said, voice lower, softer, and much too close to my skin. With Flip, I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to throw everything to the wind.

  I asked quietly as if that would discount the question. “Why did you groan?”

  “When you blush like that it makes me wonder where else you’re blushing.” Oh. I swallowed. He laughed quietly. His laugh was liquor, dripping down my throat and settling uncomfortably warm in my stomach and thighs.

  His lips twitched. “You look flushed, you okay?”

  “Fine,” I squeaked. I was not okay. I throbbed. I ached. If he moved an inch, I was certain I would explode. His smile grew wide until he was grinning, full bright, white. It was unbearably sexy. The dimple at his cheek popped, his jaw got squarer.

  “How would you like it if I just stood up right now,” I hissed my threat. “Let everyone know where we are?” Police were yards away, their flashlights beams of moonlight on the snow, but I refused to let him win again.

  I think I see something—down the street!

  And just like that everyone was running in the opposite direction.

  Now was our time to go.

  “Tease.” His words ghosted the shell of my ear, then he bit it.

  He bit my ear.

  So hard I was sure it left a mark. My breath left me in a wispy, steamy gasp that curled into the night sky like a ballerina. I clamped my thighs hard, and I didn’t care if we lived and died beneath the porch.

  “I’m not like the rest, Tweetie,” he said, licking the bite. “You’re mine, I’m yours. Everyone else was just a distraction.”

  Fourteen

  Pro Ho: A girl who likes hanging around pro skaters.

  TWEETIE

  I tore apart every room in the house looking for my board. The solarium, the foyer, the great hall, even the pantry. Nowhere. Gone. My comp was in an hour and it took fifteen minutes to get there. Panic and desperation crept up my spine as I searched my bedroom again. I’d showered but still hadn’t dried my hair, curls dripping into my T-shirt.

  Where was it?

  “You probably need this,” Flip said, and I spun. He held a skateboard by the wheels—my board. Somehow this was becoming our new normal.

  I dragged a hand through my wet curls with relief. “Uh, yeah.” I accepted my board and then stayed stuck in some kind of awkward limbo as all my panic disappeared. Something had happened again. I could see it in his eyes.

  After we came home last night we were filled with giggles and smiles. I had to force my head down on the pillow, repeating over and over again I had a competition. Flip was all smiles too.

  Now his eyes were heavy, mouth a melancholy twist. I tugged at the end of my curls, thinking of something to say, when his hand covered mine. Grasped the end of my wet curl, a thought obvious on his mind but not readily available to read.

  “Still so fucking curly.” He dropped his hand.

  He was going to leave. Just like that.

  I struggled for something to say. “Do you think you’ll ever compete again?”

  Wrong thing to say.

  Worst thing.

  Dammit.

  His eyes broke, and briefly I saw something. Shame? Yearning? Quickly he mopped it away with a shrug. “Nah. Not my scene anymore.” When he skates, the love is so apparent. You don’t just stop loving something.

  “But, haven’t you ever loved something so much you’d give up anything for it?” The air changed with my question, suddenly thick and heavy with an intention I hadn’t foreseen. Flip’s eyes were darker than I’d ever seen and my chest pounded with the rumblings of an avalanche about to fall and bury me.

  “I’m starting to think you like getting hit.”

  I startled at King’s voice, once again lost in the separate world Flip’s presence created. My eyes flitted behind Flip to where King was. He was upset. He rarely spoke his emotions aloud, but they bled across his face.

  He wanted to punch something—someone.

  I could take a wild guess who.

  Flip blinked, and suddenly his face was all smiles. “Good morning, Kingston. You seem chipper.” I let out a breath. I’d imagined it. I’d imagined the want in Flip’s eyes and the swelter in the room.

  King grabbed Flip’s shoulder, forcing his attention. “Is everything a joke to you?”

  “Just the funny shit,” Flip said. They were going to start another fistfight. With a deep sigh, I shoved them apart.

  “Really? You’re doing this today?”

  King’s eyes softened with shame, while Flip’s sparkled.

  He was infuriatingly hot and cold.

  My ear was still sore from how he’d bit it. It was a good sore, thou
gh. A throbbing, aching sore that matched the one between my thighs. As if he knew, a wicked grin melted across his face.

  “My bad,” Flip said, raising his hands in surrender. The playful, cocksure lilt of his smile belied his contrition. He stepped backward, spun on his heel, and disappeared down the hall.

  “Big brother King,” I said when Flip was out of earshot, grabbing his hand. “Why are you so mad? Flip wasn’t doing anything. Are you going to tell me he can’t walk by my bedroom?”

  He stilled. “Where were you last night?”

  “Here,” I responded quickly. “In bed.” I yanked my hands back, worried he’d see the spray paint I couldn’t wash off.

  His eyes narrowed, then he exhaled. “You should be downstairs, Tweetie. It’s time to go. Let’s win and have something really fucking great to celebrate on your birthday.” Oh, right. My birthday. Another year gone and another year closer to never accomplishing my dreams.

  I plastered on a smile. “I’ll be right there.”

  FLIP

  I arrived just as Tweetie was warming up, glad I didn’t miss it. The way she skated was almost as sexy as when she bit her lip. The competition was fierce, but no one was better than her, that was fucking plain as day. She was going to own it.

  No doubt about it.

  Finally, she would win and get what was owed her.

  The smell of fresh kettle corn and hot dogs lingered in the air. Extreme sports vendors and clothing stalls were set up around the converted parking lot, like a punk circus. Skateboards, graphic tees, decks, loud music, all being shoved in my face.

  I wandered to a black and white striped tent with decks mounted inside and outside for perusing. Tweetie’s board was getting old and worn, and the new ones had better grip. I was examining one with a pink deck, when I was shoved against the stack of mounted boards. They rattled and the vendor leaned forward, startled. I stood up, meeting the person who’d shoved me in the eyes as much as I could.

  King.

  I wasn’t small, but King was a fucking beast.