Page 61 of Hooked on Trouble

Rose offers a polite hello, then slinks off to the couch, always wary with strangers. Nikki frowns at Rose’s cold shoulder but brightens when she looks at me. She nudges Colin inside, his sullen demeanor as fierce as ever. I hurry to my room and return with my skateboard. When I pass it to him, he actually smiles.

“Cool stickers.” Eyes wide, he runs his fingers over the skull and crossbones on the underside.

“Remember what I said. Use this to teach your brother.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks.” But he’s busy spinning the green wheels.

Nikki and I chat for a bit. She looks less tired. Less drawn, maybe. It’s nice getting to know her, Colin and Jack, too. Adding them to my circle of friends is special. Nico trusting me with his family means the world.

With a final thank-you, they leave, and I join Rose on the couch. I hand her a spoon and position the mint chip between us. “What are we watching?”

“Tom Hardy’s lips.”

I laugh, but seriously—I could happily lose a day or five drooling over those lips.

Partway through Mad Max, my attention drifts to Rose. She may keep her distance, and we’re certainly not the type do each other’s nails or sing about summer love, but some nights she tells me stories. According to her, she’s spent the last seventeen years “finding herself.” Normally that kind of hippie talk would have me miming my demise (death by vampire bite), but I can’t learn enough about Rose.

She’s curled up on the opposite end of the couch, and I kick her butt. “What’s the first job you had in the city? After you moved out.”

She squints and tucks her bottom lip between her teeth. “Busking, I think. I’d sing while a friend played bongos. We weren’t half bad.”

She’d probably laugh her ass off if she saw the girls and me rocking out as the Painted Hearts. We were on the atrocious side of horrible. “I loved when you’d sing to me, so I’m not surprised.”

Her eyes shine at the admission. “Some of the few happy times in that house.”

She’s right about that. “Favorite jobs you’ve had?” I ask to keep her talking.

More squinting. More lip biting. “Probably my summer tree planting. Although the mosquitoes were insane. And I liked working at Neverland Farms. Growing stuff. Remember that African violet Daniel Putnam gave me? The one in that awful yellow pot?” When I nod, she goes on, “I actually carted it around for ages. Couldn’t stomach tossing it.”

I twist a lock of hair around my finger, building my courage to pry further. This type of sharing isn’t new. We talk about our pasts, but she rarely mentions the present. When I bring things up, she gets quiet and avoids questions, and Nico’s warning not to trust Rose so quickly resurfaces, but she flips back to pleasant and always apologizes. A reminder that reunions like ours don’t blossom overnight. I should probably drop things after her evasion earlier, but this is the most relaxed she’s been. “You know that Russ guy who told me where you were? What was the deal with you guys? He seemed like he cared about you.”

She sighs and runs her fingers over the cushion at her side. “You’re nosier than you were as a kid.” She tickles my foot. “Let’s watch the movie.”

More avoidance, but at least I got her talking a bit. It still amazes me how different Rose and I are. I’d rather swim in raw sewage than plant trees in the Canadian north. One week at Neverland Farms would have me hanging myself with Lake’s guitar strings. But the comfort that comes with our shared history isn’t replaceable. She taught me to ride a bike. At Christmas she’d hide homemade jewelry in a stocking under my bed. We’d eat cereal for dinner, our legs intertwined on the couch—a habit we’ve revived.

Her presence is my own gravitational force, grounding me with familiarity. It makes me wonder how I lasted all these years without her.

Smiling to myself, I return my focus to Tom Hardy—because, those lips.

By the time the movie ends, I’m eager to pack a bag and spend the evening with Nico, including a lengthy anatomy session between the sheets. Rose’s cell rings and she hurries to her room. She’s taken a job at a delivery company that specializes in weekend and evening service. It’s on-call, so her phone’s constantly going off. I can’t tell if she likes it, but she seems to earn good tips, even if the hours are messed up. Nico keeps asking when she’ll have enough cash to move out. He hasn’t grilled her since that first night, but he’s pissed I’m still on my couch, frustrated that I lent her money.

I owe her a lot more than a bed and a few bucks.

* * *

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, I take the stairs in Nico’s building two at a time. Being apart this long has me restless, and it won’t hurt to build my stamina. We need to make up for our days apart. I also plan to break his defenses. He’s always so careful with me in bed, asking for what he wants, but never letting go. Not completely. I bet those blue eyes ignite when he takes charge, his inner beast unleashed. I walk faster.

As I turn down the hallway, I catch Sawyer leaving the big guy’s apartment.

“Sneaking out after a quickie?” I ask.

He grins. “Just getting him ready for you.”

“Thoughtful.”

The hallway is as gray as my apartment is beige. He leans his shoulder into the wall. “The gentleman I am, I won’t ask the purpose of your visit.”

“No need to pretend around me.”