Lost King by Piper Lennox (moboreader txt) 📗

to his pulse, hoping mine can learn to match. “But sometimes…they don’t give us a choice.”

“You’ve had to do that, too?” I sniff and toy with the shoelace casing on his hoodie’s drawstring. I press it into my finger until it leaves an indentation, even through the callous.

I think about what Ronan used to tell me, whenever I’d haul mop water outside—that it was better to let him and his sons do that, because I had soft hands. They had callouses. And callouses were waterproof.

I wonder if emotions can harden like that, too. If a tough decision ever gets easier...or if our hearts build up enough scar tissue to keep going, regardless.

He doesn’t answer.

I try again. “Who was yours?”

“No one.”

“Come on, you can tell me.”

It should be Character Ruby who says this. The delivery is soft and kind; the offer implies secrecy that Theo doesn’t deserve in the slightest.

But it’s the real me who says it. The real me who pushes off from his chest to look at him, search his eyes, and prove, with nothing but a look, that she means it. He can tell me. And I won’t tell another soul.

Theo studies my face, wets his lips…then shakes his head.

“Some other time,” he sighs, getting to his feet. He swings open the door and jerks his chin so I’ll follow, like escorting a kid from a room they aren’t allowed to be in.

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him guard himself. The first time he’s the one hiding something.

Hypocrite that I am, I absolutely hate it.

12

“Damn, dude. You would hit on your maid.”

“Where else is he gonna find a girl? Kid never leaves the house.”

While my cousins’ laughter rattles my headset, I look around the living room and take stock.

Over the last nine days, whenever she’s had time to spare after work, Ruby and I have managed to clean the entire first floor. As relieved as I am to see the place looking decent again, the best part has been our conversations. Never in my life have I been able to chat that easily, for that long, with another human.

The weirdest part is, on the days she can’t make it, I miss the talking. Instead of needing a social recharge, I text her or call, and pick up wherever our last chat left off.

Downside: for all the great conversations, we haven’t kissed or touched since. I want her to know I’ll go at whatever pace she needs, so I’ve been waiting on her to make the next move. I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist when she comes over tonight.

“First of all,” I tell them, grabbing my controller as we start a new round, “she isn’t ‘my maid.’ Like, this isn’t a regular thing, where she keeps on coming.”

They immediately launch a sequence of crude jokes. Should’ve watched my phrasing.

“And second,” I continue, “I hired her after hitting on her. And taking her on a date. It was just an excuse to see her again, really.”

A wave of zombies hits the screen. All of us curse at the same time, shooting and stabbing our way to safety.

“Finally: neither of you assholes can give me hell about how I choose to date. The fact you have the girlfriends you do is all the proof I need that God exists. Actual fucking miracles.”

“He’s got us there,” Wes snorts.

Van, still laughing at his own dirty jokes, hits his inhaler before croaking, “Seriously, though: tell us about her.”

Right away, I think of the pool.

I’ve replayed that scene at least a hundred times since. It puts me in a fog I never want to snap out of.

It’s way more than sexual attraction, though I don’t think I’ve ever felt this much for someone. And I can’t even say it’s that I don’t feel socially drained around her.

It’s something inherent in Ruby herself that I can’t name. I feel like I’ve known her so much longer than this.

Part of me debates telling this to the guys. I want them to get it. Now that they’ve stopped being walking douchebags long enough to land themselves girlfriends, maybe they’ll drop the shit-talking and give me some advice, the way I’m always doing for them.

In the end, I decide against it. I don’t want to speak too soon. It may feel like I’ve known Ruby for a while—but I haven’t.

“So. Thanksgiving.” Wes sighs at his own comment. “What are we doing this year?”

“Same thing we do every year,” I say. “Not a damn thing. Unless you count the big family group chat where we all pretend we’re definitely, absolutely going to meet up, but then our parents start arguing about whose house, how many days—”

“And then,” Van finishes with a laugh, “we end up spending Thanksgiving in a bar, just the three of us, while our parents give us shit for not visiting them.” He starts another game. “Speaking of, though, Megan must be nesting or some shit already, because Dad says she’s insisting on cooking this year. And she told Juni and Allison about it, so now they’re all excited....”

“Which means you have to go and pretend you’re excited too.” Wes sighs again. “Similar thing with us. Georgia and Rylan are renting a cabin and inviting a bunch of the twins’ influencer friends. Sounds like nothing but a long-ass weekend to me, but Clara’s stoked, so.”

“So,” I add, “you’re pretending you are also stoked.”

“No, she knows my stance. I’ve been very loud about it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll have fun with her and Georgia and Rylan. It’s the idea of being with a bunch of strangers I’m not loving.”

He warns me about a horde closing in on my right. A