Skater Boy (Patchwork House Book 1)

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  My thighs clenched.

  His jaw tightened.

  “I want to know something.” My whisper was so loud in the deep quiet.

  Why didn’t you tell me the truth?

  What happened to you to make your eyes so sad?

  Do you like me as much as I like you?

  When I didn’t speak, Flip canted his head.

  “Do—”

  “Tweetie?” Somewhere in the hallway, King called out for me. “Where are you?” As old as I got, King was always checking on me. Which meant he would find me sooner or later, like every other time I snuck out.

  In one swift motion, Flip grabbed me above the elbow, pulling me close and shutting the door behind me. One arm bracketed me, my back pressed against the cool wood.

  My heart quickened, his head bent, stare close and urgent.

  “I should go,” I whispered without conviction. In response, he dragged his thumb across my lower lip, from corner to center, exposing my teeth. I let out a ragged breath that matched his own. Then his knee separated my thighs.

  I felt him.

  His need.

  He caught my wrist, guided my hand down his chest. Along every groove. Every intricately defined muscle like it was chiseled by god. Hot under my hand, worked iron in the cold night. Until he stopped just at his waistband.

  I was the one who went farther, slipping my hand beneath the elastic. I curled my fingers, grazing the top of him, coarse and silky and so damn tempting. A rough, quiet groan fell from his lips.

  “I’m so bad for you. If I was a good guy, I’d stop. I’d let you be happy.”

  I didn’t understand any of what he was saying, but the pain I felt. Deep. In his rocky, strangled voice and his desperate, cracking eyes.

  “Whatever it is I’ll understand. If you did something…if something happened…I’ll understand.”

  Tell me. Please.

  Let me in.

  His stare dug into me, and again I was certain he was searching for something. I desperately wanted him to find it.

  He exhaled, resigned.

  “I’m not a good guy. I’m the fucking worst.” He captured my face in his palms, grip sure and almost painful in its desperation. The way he looked at me, I was sure he would kiss me. The way I felt, I was certain I would let him.

  But then, with slow and almost agonizing determination, his lips came to my forehead.

  I was frozen. Mute. Struck dumb. Everything stopped working all I knew was his lips on my skin. Soft and so tender, a complete contrast to his grip digging into my skull.

  He pulled back, pressed his forehead to mine, and looked at me from beneath hooded lids.

  “I’m going to put the awe back in your eyes,” he said, and my breath caught. “You looked at me like I was a god once, and you’ll do it again.”

  “Tweetie?” King's voice was closer, urgent. Flip closed his eyes, burrowed his forehead deeper into mine then with another ragged exhale, stepped off.

  He gently cupped my shoulders and opened the door, putting me back in the hallway.

  I was winded.

  It was only a minute before King saw me and rushed to my side.

  “What are you doing out here? Are you okay?” He pressed his palm to my forehead. “You look feverish.” My fingers buzzed with adrenaline, thighs jelly.

  “Just getting air. Got a little hot.”

  He nodded, face pressed in concern, and walked me back to my room.

  Twenty

  Dropping: Skaters yell this to prevent a collision.

  FLIP

  “I. Am. An. Idiot.” I said each word with a thrust to the pillow. I’d spent the better part of the night thinking about what King said. I should stay away from Tweetie. I wasn’t good for her. None of us were.

  Then she came to me last night and I nearly caved.

  That’s all it takes, she shows up and you give in?

  How true was that? I was weak for her. Anytime I was alone with her all of my stony right crumbled into wrong.

  The shower started up and “Blitzkrieg Bop” dying cat version echoed through the cabin walls as Tweetie sang. Fuck. Everything she did was adorable, even when criminally off tune.

  I groaned, banging my head against the pillow harder.

  Then, like some sign from God, Penelope stumbled into my room. Still drunk, and looking for love. She shut my door behind her, mid-morning sun shining on her tanned face.

  “Flip…” She chewed her lip, then pulled her shirt over her head. Tweetie’s singing ceased as seconds dragged into minutes. Penelope waited, eyes wide, and I wondered if she was the perfect antidote to forget about Tweetie.

  Meaningless. Mindless.

  But even I wasn’t that messed up. “Penelope, babe, what are you doing? I am wrecked for Tweetie. She’s the only one I think about.”

  After that night two years earlier, every interaction with a girl always ended the same way: in a goodbye.

  Not a moment later, another light knock came on the door, followed by a creak when it opened. Wet hair. Soaking wet hair. Does Tweetie not know how to use a towel? And why the fuck did I find it so hot? I stifled my groan, digging my fingers into my blanket, creating rosettes in the plaid fabric.

  “Oh, sorry—I—wrong room…” Tweetie trailed off, stumbling upon Penelope shirtless next to the dresser. The door shut quietly.

  I could run after Tweetie, let her know what she’d seen wasn’t what it looked like.

  Pull her into my arms.

  Kiss her, finally.

  And then what? I still hadn’t written the final feet of film. I still didn’t know how to do this without hurting her.

  “I don’t care,” Penelope said quickly, drawing my attention back. “I don’t even like you. I like someone else. We can help each other. I can help you make Tweetie jealous and you can help me…or…whatever.” She pulled her lip between her teeth and my brows dropped, briefly wondering who Penelope liked.

  I dragged a hand down my face. “You deserve better.”

  “Let me decide that.”

  It could work. Penelope might be what I needed to push Tweetie away for good.

  TWEETIE

  Penelope. In his bedroom. The same one who looked at him all googly-eyed. I leaned against his door, wondering what was wrong with me. My fingers zinged, remembering how he’d felt in the dark. My flesh still on fire from his kiss.

  You looked at me like I was a god once, and you’ll do it again.

  “I. Am. An. Idiot.” I groaned, hitting my head against the door with each word. It hadn’t even been hours since I’d left him, and Penelope was there?

  The door opened, smacking my forehead.

  “Sorry.” Penelope shrugged, obviously unapologetic, and continued down the hall.

  “Why do you hate me so much?” I yelled at her back. “I’ve never done anything to you!”

  “I’m jealous!” She spun, red hair a billowing curtain.

  My mouth dropped. What the hell could someone like her be jealous of me for? She was objectively gorgeous. An uncertain, wavering moment followed, then she spoke, but her voice was quiet.

  “It just sucks, okay? My dad is a drunk. I’ve never met my mom. Patchwork is my home too, but they don’t see us like they see you. Every one of us wishes we could be you.”

  Her words hit me like a kick to the chest.

  I’d spent most of my life resenting her and all the Patchwork Girls, considering them mean girls who didn’t like me because I wasn’t pretty.

  “I never…” I never thought about it that way. I thought their looks made them shallow and exclusionary, but this entire time I was the one who couldn’t see beyond their beauty.

  “And now because I said—I spilled—I might…they might…I could never get to go back—” She choked up, but seconds later she was stone. “You don’t even realize how lucky you are.” Jaw tight and eyes firm, she exhaled and left.

  As she was about to round the corner, I grabbed her elbow. “Wait! Wha
t aren’t they telling me?” Her dusty brows pinched then she yanked herself free, first sparing me an exasperated breath.

  She rounded the corner, and I stayed, staring at the empty hallway.

  I couldn’t decide whether to be ashamed or angry.

  So I snowboarded.

  “Want company?” Daniel asked on my way out.

  “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?” I countered. He shared a look with King. “Yeah.” I snapped my goggles on. “I think I’ll go alone.”

  I tried to work out all my frustration, anger, and insecurity on the powder. When I got back the night had long fallen, and another fire was up. I was still frustrated. Still angry. Still insecure. But now with sore limbs.

  And Flip was still with Penelope.

  I wanted to hate her, but now I wasn’t sure how.

  “So the powder was fucking weak today,” I spat, landing on the log as Flip threw his arm around Penelope. I ground my jaw, trying to ignore how that made my chest crack. The stitches in my life were coming undone and when I tried to rethread one, it pulled apart another.

  “I thought it was pretty good,” Daniel added.

  Flip and I locked eyes.

  His lips tilted.

  My stomach pancaked.

  “What happened to your coat?” King asked.

  “Wet.” I put my hands to the fire and focused on that, not on the boy opposite me. S’mores were brought out. Sparky lit a marshmallow on fire and freaked out, dropped it on Pants, who fell into the snow to ward off the burn from still not wearing pants.

  I actually cracked a smile, just as a coat landed on my shoulders. I looked up in time to find Flip walking back to Penelope. Leaving me with the awkwardness of everyone staring at me. I looked back at the snow, but sneakily tried to smell the hoodie. It smelled like Flip. Warm and oceany, somehow unassuming yet heady. When I looked up, King was glaring.

  Then my stomach dropped.

  Across the fire, Flip kissed Penelope. Lips that had so recently been on me, hot and firm and possessive. The mere thought sent a slice of heat through my gut.

  Suddenly the coat felt less like an act of love, and more like an act of dominance. It shouldn’t bother me. It shouldn’t. Why should I care what an asshole who didn’t meet a single item on my checklist, who abandoned me without reason, is doing with a girl?

  I was about to rip his coat off, when Flip’s eyes opened.

  Locked with mine.

  As he continued to kiss her.

  The muscle in his cheek throbbed and pulsed like his stare. I could practically feel the power of his kiss. I dropped my cup into the snow, spilled rivers of dark beer into the white powder.

  “I…have to get some air.”

  I knew by the footfalls that King had followed. Before he had a chance to say anything, I turned, rounding on him.

  “You can’t kick out Penelope.”

  His beachy brown brows drew like he was thinking. “Who?”

  “Are you serious?” My mouth dropped and contrition twisted his sharp features. I rolled my eyes on an exhale, finding the blanket of glitter in the sky.

  “You guys can be jerks sometimes, you know that?” I said.

  He gave me a soft shrug of apology. I knew what he was thinking. You can’t be nice all the time and keep something like Patchwork alive.

  “Nice jacket,” he said, brow arched.

  “Oh, uh, I didn’t realize I was still wearing it.” What a damn lie. Flip’s smell wrapped around me like a warm blanket, and I let myself believe it was him.

  King shrugged out of his sweatshirt, and I had no choice but to take Flip’s off. It fell to the ground, curled in the powder. King rubbed my shoulders, warming me up like he used to. Silvery night eyes locked on mine.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I asked. “The truth.”

  “He used to live here, now he doesn’t. You know everything.”

  I nodded, jaw tight. I didn’t know why I bothered asking.

  “Just like I know everything about what happened that night?” I pressed.

  “Tweetie…” His hands froze on my shoulders, but his eyes were hard, his mouth stayed sealed.

  “Please tell me.” Tell me something that’s not a lie.

  King dropped his hands. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

  “Why do you keep avoiding it?” I could feel my face growing hot even in the icy air.

  “The only thing you need to know is that night I gave up any hope of being with the one I loved.” My gut dropped. King had a love?

  “King—”

  “This is over, Tweetie. Stop bringing it up. Forget that night. Forget Flip. You came back, the past stays in the past. Got it?”

  “You know what,” I said, jaw tight. “I feel like snowboarding.”

  FLIP

  Tweetie glowed through the flames, orange and soft. They crackled and popped a fiery halo around her. A snowboard stood next to her, almost as tall as her—and she was wearing King's sweatshirt.

  “Going snowboarding?” Daniel asked. “Be safe and stay away from the no-go zones.”

  She nodded. Still not looking at me.

  “Shit,” she said aloud.

  “What?” I asked at the same time as King. We shot each other glares.

  “Uh…” She looked between us. “It’s no biggie. I lost my beanie. It was fine during the day but now…” I remembered her running after me the night before, the beanie falling to the snow.

  “I have an extr—” Before King could finish his thought, I took mine off and stood up, Penelope falling off my lap into the snow. I slammed it on Tweetie’s head. Dammit. She looked adorable in my hat. It slipped a little past the ears, drooping a bit over her big eyes.

  “Hey!” Penelope yelled, rubbing her head. Daniel, good Daniel, was at her side, helping her up.

  I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything cuter.

  Maybe if Tweetie wasn’t wearing anything else.

  “It doesn’t look like it fits very well,” King ground out.

  “It fits fine,” I bit back. A silence settled, various people around the bonfire shooting each other looks.

  “I can get you one that fits,” King offered.

  “Um…” She chewed her bottom lip and my eyes darted to the plump thing. Remembering the way it tasted. How perfectly it fit between my teeth years ago.

  As if she knew, she looked up. Locked eyes.

  “I’m okay,” she said, voice low.

  I grinned.

  King sighed through his nostrils but said nothing. He walked back to the cabin, and Tweetie worked her mouth, looking after him like she wanted to follow, but at last her eyes settled on me.

  “Last night…” She said so quietly I almost didn’t catch it, and reality came back.

  “Penelope is waiting.” Though she looked pretty happy now that Daniel was checking on her.

  “Flip!” she called to my back. “Why do you keep running from me?”

  I stopped short. “I’m not running.” I threw her a grin, but her eyes narrowed.

  “You know, at first I thought you were the most brazenly honest boy in existence,” she said. “But you smile through your pain so much I think you might be the biggest liar I’ve ever met.”

  My smiled dropped.

  The bonfire had grown quiet. Everyone watched us. I saw the worry etched in Daniel’s youthful face. I never should have started this a month ago—years ago.

  It was time to end it.

  I grabbed her wrist, pulled her far away, until we were shrouded by snow-covered trees, the moonlight bouncing off them like diamonds. There was no light, save for the little glow coming from the cabin and fire, but it was bright and silvery gray.

  I could see everything.

  Like the insecurity on her face, and the way she came to a stop just at my chest.

  She fit me. Perfectly.

  “About last night…and this morning…” she stuttered. Fuck. It was cute. And th
at was the problem. I leaned against a tree. Looked at the stars. The snow. Down the mountain. Anywhere besides her unrelenting stare.

  “Flip, about last night…the kiss…” She took a breath like she didn’t want to say what was on her mind. The insecurity on her face grew. She dragged her sleeve down with one hand, over her cherry red hands.

  End it. Now.

  I stepped closer, covering her cold hands with mine. Her eyes popped open.

  “Didn’t it mean something to you?” she whispered. “Or is this really a game?”

  Of course not.

  “We need to stop, Tweetie.” My voice held no conviction.

  She rose on her tiptoes, angling for me, eyes wide with anticipation, lips wet with hope.

  “Don’t.” Was that my voice? Warbled and rough and raw, like sandpaper. It even grated my throat coming out. “Please. Don’t.” Yet I tightened my grip on her hands.

  “Why?” Her brows drooped.

  I ground my jaw, so tight I was certain to feel it in the morning.

  Because the truth of us would devastate you.

  “I’m barely holding it together, Tweetie.” My eyes darted to her lips. Wet and shiny and red with cold. I bet they tasted like icy cherries.

  “Then don’t,” she whispered. “Kiss me.” My eyes flashed lower to breasts that pushed against her sweater with heated breaths. King's sweater. An insane caveman part of me wanted to rip it off. As if she knew what I was thinking, her lids drooped.

  And fuck if that look didn’t push me to the edge.

  One more look. One more sigh. One more anything, and I would fall off it.

  “Tweetie, I’m leaving Patchwork.” Her eyes narrowed, reading me, ripping apart my layers like she had for years. “Sorry,” I finished.

  “You’ve been in control of this from day one. Well.” She swallowed. “Now I’m in control. There’s nothing you can say that will stop my feelings. I like you. I might even…”

  My eyes popped. She couldn’t be about to say what I thought she was.

  Summoning every ounce of willpower, I shoved her off me. She stumbled back, surprise and shock and pain slashing across her face. Her eyes shone, tears building inside them.