Page 44 of Cockpit
“That kiss had nothing to do with the contest.”
“What did it have to do with, then?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t have a choice. You always have a choice,” I finally say through gritted teeth as heat flushes my cheeks. “And don’t ever do that to me again.”
He takes a step forward. My breath hitches. My eyes close. My body anticipates his touch.
“Then don’t choose me,” he murmurs, but his words hold so much weight that I swear he’s talking about more than the damn contest.
I open my mouth to speak and then close it. The people around us are watching, and I don’t want to fuel the rumor mill that I just unthinkingly kicked into high gear. So, without another word, I turn on my heel and walk out of Hooligan’s.
Last night is a haze.
A goddamn haze in which I’m pretty sure I kissed Sidney. Then she kissed me back. And somewhere along the line, I agreed to be a willing participant in her whole contest.
“Then don’t choose me.”
“Christ.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh.
“You really shouldn’t say that.” I startle at his voice but shouldn’t expect any less. Luke and his habit of standing at the side of the bed and staring until I wake up. “You told me I wasn’t allowed to say that word, so I don’t think it’s fair if you do.”
I prop myself up on one elbow and look his way as I scrub a hand through my hair.
Shit, it’s bright in here.
Can’t say that aloud, either, or the bad-word police is going to get on me again.
“Can I say it?”
“No.” My voice sounds like I drank a fifth of Jack and smoked a pack of cigarettes. The drinking part was possible . . . I don’t quite remember.
“Give me one sec, buddy.” I shove up from the bed—slowly, just in case my stomach wants to retaliate—and then make my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take a piss. When I come back out, Luke has moved into my space on the bed, his black Star Wars pajamas stark against the white sheets.
“Are you stealing my spot?” I ask as I lie beside him. His belly laugh is instant, and he tries to squirm away from my fingers that tickle his sides and poke at his tummy.
“Just keeping it warm,” he says through his laughter.
He clings to me so I’ll stop tickling, and after a few more for good measure, I stop and hug him against me. When will he be too old to do this? When will he fight against hugs and tickling? When will he be too cool for his dad?
I close my eyes and breathe him in. The scent of his shampoo. The way his hair tickles my face. The way he tucks his hands between our chests instead of hugging me back.
And I know it’s going to kill me when that day comes.
“Did you have fun last night?” he asks. “Nana said you were out with a bunch of friends celebrating. What did you do?”
I nod as the fuzzy images clear some. “We, uh, just talked some with friends.”
“We? Were you with a girl?”
“A woman? No. Just friends.”
“Were there girls there?”
“Women,” I correct again. “There were a lot of women there, yes.”
“Did you find me a mom?”
I freeze. “No,” I say through a chuckle, “I didn’t find you a mom.”
