“I heard people are doing fist bumps now, you might want to try that sometime, caveman.”
The vendor leaned farther across her table, out into the parking lot, watching her boards more than us. “Uh, excuse me—”
“I told you this morning to stay away and where do I find you? In her bedroom.” It took King all of a few minutes to figure out I’d spray painted his parents’ house. Mr. Ayers thought it was King, and naturally, knowing he didn’t do it, there were only a few paths to follow.
King grabbed me by the collar. “You’re corrupting her.”
“Maybe you can take this outside?” the vendor suggested. “Or—a different outside…”
“Isn’t that what we do?” I knew it was a low blow, and maybe that’s why I said it. All at once he dropped me, wiped his hands on his jeans, happy to get rid of me.
The vendor stepped in, pushing us away from the skateboards. We mumbled apologies as we shuffled away from the stall and closer to the center of the action. People walked in either direction, occasionally bumping into us, cotton candy or foam fingers in their hands.
Daniel broke through the crowd. “So I just had to convince that woman not to call the cops. At least we’re consistent.” We both shot Daniel apologetic looks. I hadn’t even realized he was around, and I think King was in the same boat. Daniel always had the hardest time watching us fight.
“I don’t know what happened with us…” Daniel shook his head, dreads falling over his eyes.
King speared me. “Flip only thinks about Flip, that’s what happened.”
Then he left to go join Tweetie. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she smiled when she saw him. A genuine smile, no hesitation or caution.
“What happened all those years ago wasn’t your fault,” Daniel said.
Daniel, good Daniel. He was always the best of us.
Eyes locked on Tweetie as she laughed with King, I said. “Then whose was it? Hers?” I met Daniel’s golden stare, and he couldn’t answer. Obviously it wasn’t the little girl whose only mistake was being innocent among the Corrupt.
“He’s right.” I dragged a hand down my face. Tweetie didn’t deserve this, she didn’t deserve me coming into her life. I’d messed her up with one selfish decision after the other.
I took her to Devil’s Hill—selfish.
King took the fall—selfish.
I love her, I’ll do anything to have her—selfish.
Daniel frowned at me. “King has his own shit to work through.” Wherever his words were coming from, didn’t stop them from being true.
With an exhale, Daniel went to find his seat.
Legs kicked out at a metal picnic table, I watched Tweetie finish her warm up from the food court. Every few minutes she would glance at me from beneath the veil of her curls. They were shoved under a beanie, her nose red in the winter cold, lips even redder.
I needed to leave, give her space, but I’d followed her career from the start. I wanted to see her win, to take what she deserved.
But that was selfish.
So I thrust my uneaten hotdog off the rubbery, metal green table into the trash in one motion.
“So they’re just letting any random bitch in here now?” someone said just as I was about to throw my beer away and leave.
“As long as your gag reflex is under control.” Two chuckfuckles had settled by the garbage can, knocking their cigarette ashes on the rim. Stray ashes floated to the ground like snow.
Oily gazes fixed on Tweetie.
I fingered the slick outline of my beer’s neck. Listening.
“She’s got a nice rack though,” the one still dressed like all the teenagers said. Mr. Glory Days.
“Eh,” the other said, a man who really needed a shower. Mr. Rabies. “Too small for me. I like ‘em thick.” He made an s motion with his hands, describing the poor chick who’d end up with him.
“Shut the fuck up,” I ground out without looking up. They paused. I could feel the weight of their question and indignation. Had I spoken to them? I kept my eyes down.
“Who the fuck are you?” Mr. Rabies eventually piped up, all testosterone.
“That’s Flip,” Mr. Glory Days whispered. After the appropriate awe, impassivity washed over them.
Mr. Rabies laughed. “I thought you died.”
I leaned back, breathing in cool, winter air. Not dead yet, unfortunately for them.
“Why do you care?” Mr. Glory Days asked.
“He must be fucking her,” Mr. Rabies concluded.
“She could skate circles around you, which is probably why you’re overcompensating with your dick,” I calmly told them. As Tweetie tore off her beanie and finished warming up, I broke my beer inches from their faces. Bottle green shrapnel shattered and cut their skin.
Lucky.
If I’d been Romeo or King, it would have been on their heads.
“What the fuck?” they yelled. I wiped my hands on my pants, walking away as they dropped their cigarettes, swiping beer from their faces.
I should just leave.
That was the plan, anyway.
My eyes zeroed on Tweetie.
TWEETIE
They were calling my name when Flip came to me. A five-minute warning for me to find my position. I should’ve told him to get lost. He leaned against the ramp, eyeing me.
“I wanted to wish you good luck before you went on,” he said. “You’re going to do that move today, right?”
“Maybe…” It was still so raw. I hadn’t perfected it.
“Do it. That move is wild and stunning and unforgettable, like you.”
I looked away, not wanting him to see the way just his voice made my flesh flush like a warm summer’s day in the middle of winter.
“Thanks,” I said. When I looked back, he was already walking away—and not toward the stands. Toward the exit.
Don’t do it, my brain argued. Don’t be stupid. Don’t even think about—
I ran after him. “Flip, wait.” He stopped instantly, spinning to me. “You’re leaving?” I had no right to care. “You’re not leaving, right?”
Something flitted across his eyes. “I’ll be here.”
Lie.
Take your place, Raegan Fairchild. Three minutes.
The competition dissolved, faded away. I was lost in time, in a hope. Tender, feverish piano our soundtrack and direction. It was just Flip and me on a ballroom floor as I waited for him to give me his gloved hand.
“Do you know how sexy you look when you’re in the zone?” There was nothing wolfish or predatory about him. By the soft backlight of his eyes, the warm glint in his voice, and the way he tilted his head, I knew it was a genuine compliment. Somehow, that was scarier.
I turned into my shoulder, hiding my involuntary Flip blush.
“Not fair, Tweetie. You know what that blush does to me.” Again, his voice was soft and smiling.
“I don’t understand you, Flip,” I said. “One minute you’re—” I broke off, almost about to say sweet and charming like a fool. “I just don’t understand the game you’re playing.”
His face dropped, serious. “I’m not playing.”
I made a noise in my throat.
Right.
What happened between last night and this morning, or even just now? He was all over the place.
“Ask me again.” He took a step closer, eyes metal, tugging at a magnet in my gut I didn’t remember existing.
I tripped over my heel, putting space between us. “What?”
“Ask me again. Ask me if I’ve ever loved something so much I’d give up everything.”
Why did I suddenly feel like we weren’t talking about skateboarding? There was an edge in his eyes, the same as there’d been last night. It made my skin tingle.
I paused, looking over my shoulder at the ramp I needed to climb. They called my name again, but I had to know.
“Have you?”
“Yes.”
I met his eyes, dark and flinty
even in the bright winter sun.
My mouth went dry.
I licked my lips to wet them.
His eyes darted to that, then back to mine. “I really want to fucking kiss you.” The brazen honesty shocked me.
I couldn’t get used to it—to him.
It felt like a game, like the minute I gave in the floor would be pulled from beneath me.
Everything in my head said not to kiss him. He was unpredictable. Hot then cold. But all I saw were his lips. Full. Soft. Kissable. I wanted them on me like I’d never wanted anything before. I felt it in my gut, a raw, aching need.
“So do it. Kiss me.”
FLIP
“Kiss me,” she said again, and fuck, that was all I wanted to hear. What I’d been waiting to hear. She took a shy step closer, just barely grasping my shirt.
I was stuck between right and wrong.
I never cared about what was right until I met Tweetie.
And I never wanted to do wrong more than when I was with her.
“I don’t think I heard you,” I lied, pressing my forehead to hers, focused on her lips. She smiled, tongue darting out to lick her lower one. Her silky rose petal lips.
I’d love to bite them, wound them, mark them.
Drag it out with her groan.
“Kiss me, Flip.” All it would take was a wind blow, a feather’s touch, and her kiss would be mine. I wanted to fuck the rules, kiss her like I’d wanted to for years, since the first and last time her lips had found mine.
Final call for Raegan Fairchild.
“Final call,” I said, and lifted my forehead from hers. Her eyes were misty with lust, but when they finally adjusted, they were not what I wanted to see.
Despair.
Shame.
Anger.
They flashed like a slideshow of hurt.
And then I saw why—we’d been blown up on the monitor. The camera found Tweetie, ready to film her for the comp. Instead they found us. It was too grainy and fuzzy to be sure, but just enough picture to confirm everything people like the assholes at the food court thought.
“Pro ho,” someone uttered under breath, walking by her.
Her face caved, and she shoved me off.
“Tweetie, wait—” I started, but she grabbed her board, running to take her position.
Fifteen
Switch Stance: Riding the board with opposite footing than usual.
FLIP
Some time ago
Tweetie is almost 16, Flip is almost 21
Tweetie had awful taste in boys. Her first date broke her heart, and now this guy? He called that a kiss?
There was no way she was enjoying that slug tongue or the way he grabbed her hand and placed it on his dick after thirty seconds of foreplay. I counted—because it literally took that much time before he said, “Just the tip…”
I rolled my eyes so hard they must have hit the back of my head, then wondered if this would be the time I made myself known. I’d managed years of being a shadow, even through the certified-blind dick that told her she wasn’t pretty enough.
But no way was she losing her virginity to some guy who thought the G-spot was some kind of rapper.
He was way too old for her too. Nineteen. If Tweetie was going to date a loser, she should at least date a loser her age.
It was getting harder to stay in the shadows.
As Tweetie went on these failed dates, I told myself if she found someone who was kind and who took care of her like she deserved, I could finally stop checking up on her.
My blood didn’t boil because they were kissing, my jaw wasn’t tight because her hands were on him, it was just that they weren’t good enough.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I stepped forward, when suddenly he was pulled from the car.
King, Daniel, and Romeo stood above him like stone golems. The kid looked like he was going to wet himself. I bit back a laugh.
It had been a light winter. Snow fell as sugar, and tonight was no different. There was only a dusting on the ground, enough to glitter in the moonlight. The kid scrambled back, melting the snow beneath him.
“What the fuck?” Tweetie yelled, climbing out of the car. “Why are you here?”
Romeo looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Daniel had a look of sympathy. King had murder in his eyes.
“You know who we are?” King asked. The kid nodded frantically. “So get lost.”
He kicked up and ran, not bothering to zip up his fly, and sprinted away from his car.
“Wait!” she stumbled after him. “Come back…” But the boy was long gone. He knew the reputation around Patchwork. I had to give him props for even attempting it.
She made a white fist, staring after the boy.
Then spun on them. “I’m never going to have sex!”
Good, I thought.
“Good,” King parroted.
She shoved him hard in the chest. He was unswayed.
“This isn’t fair. You guys drink and have sex and break laws. Why can’t I do the same?”
“Have you ever seen any of that?”
“No, but I hear rumors—”
King stepped to her, arms folded, jaw tight. “Have you ever seen any of that?”
“No,” she conceded with an adorable push of her bottom lip.
“As far as you’re concerned our life is the regular fucking Andy Griffith Show.”
Her nostrils flared as she glared at King, taking deep breaths. “I’m not a kid anymore! I’m basically sixteen. You can’t keep me in the Patchwork bubble forever, King.”
He laughed, or made as close a sound as King could get. “The hell I can’t.”
She let out a noise halfway between a scream and a groan and stormed away, leaving small angry footprints in the snow. I thought they would for sure follow her, but they stayed.
“Flip,” King said aloud.
Shit.
I stretched my arms, coming out from my spot in the shadows.
“Oh, hey.” I rubbed the back of my head, tangling my chocolate waves. “Fancy meeting you assholes here.” Daniel spared me a smile, Romeo arched a brow the way he did, like he knew more about me than I did. King…King was pissed.
“It’s time to stop,” King said. Right to the point, as always. “Her birthday is next week. She’s smart. She actually likes doing homework. She could be better than this life, than us. Hanging around like this…” He trailed off, jaw twerking.
I didn’t need him to finish. I knew what he was going to say before he’d thought the words, because I felt them myself.
“It’s just not good for her, mate,” Romeo finished. What had begun as me hoping to help her, transformed as she grew up. I kept waiting for that moment I was certain she would be okay, but instead I got to know her from the sidelines. She was funny, smart, determined. Her favorite food was peanut butter and bananas and she could raise as much as hell as the Patchwork crew gave her.
Like Bizzy said, she was little, but she was fierce.
“Or you,” Daniel added. I knew he was right. I wasn’t sure what I was doing anymore. I couldn’t be in her life, but I couldn’t leave it either.
So I pushed.
“Who are you to decide what she needs?”
“We’re the closest thing she has to family.” That hit me like a punch to the chest. I’d watched her grow up. Helped her silently, secretly. But what was I to her in the end?
Nothing.
What’s worse, I knew that was how it should be.
King arched a brow. “Agreed?”
I didn’t nod, but they didn’t wait for me to. With an almost pitiful pat on my shoulder, Daniel said goodbye, and they took off toward Patchwork.
TWEETIE
The room beside mine was off limits. When I was younger, I accepted that fact. Today I woke up new and determined. Officially sixteen. Old enough to drive. Old enough to have sex according to the state. Old enough. Finally.
I was so cu
rious what was inside.
As I cracked it open, I heard behind me: “Happy Birthday—” King cut off mid-sentence and I turned to see all three of them. Romeo held a lopsided cake with frosting dripping down the sides like melted candlewax. Happy Birthday was scrawled in messy black handwriting atop the white frosting.
King slammed the door shut so fast the air singed my nose.
“Shit.” Romeo exhaled. “Here we go.”
“That room is off limits,” King said, hand flat on the door like I might try and open it again. “
I glared. “You have a lot of fucking rules for a group of people who supposedly live outside them.” King's eyes softened, but I wouldn’t be swayed. Not after what happened last week.
I knew there was more to Patchwork than Warheads and cereal boxes and Jenga. I heard so many rumors about Patchwork, especially living in it. My Rebel Gods may have taken me in, but they never let me out. They locked me up and refused to let me play in their Corrupt paradise.
I turned, ready to go to my room, when King grabbed my elbow. “Come on, Tweetie. It’s your birthday. We got you a present.” His brows dropped, as close to pleading as King would ever get. I caved.
They took me downstairs and Daniel sat me gingerly on the orange couch, hands floating on my shoulders like he wasn’t sure he wanted me there. Then he disappeared.
I kept my arms folded, trying and failing to stay mad.
I heard arguing, King and Romeo.
No. Not that. We discussed not that.
What’s she gonna do if he asks if she takes it up the—
Oh, fuck off.
You fuck off, prude.
Then silence. I tapped my knee. Every day at Patchwork was a new experience.
They came out, Daniel carried an easel under one arm. Romeo carried a large slice of paper, big enough to tape to it.
“Oh my god,” I groaned when they set it up and I saw what was written.
“If you’re going to be sexually active, you’re doing it smart,” Daniel said.
“No pregnancies,” King said.
“We don’t want you gettin’ one of them coat hanger abortions.” Romeo lit a cigarette without looking at me, like he’d just asked me what I wanted to eat for dinner.
Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1) Page 15
