Page 7 of Let the Light Shine Through

That sounds vague. And complicated.

I want to ask her why she took a year off. I want to ask her what her views are and how they differ from her school’s. I want to ask her what her name is. Anything to keep her talking. But the words get stuck somewhere between my brain and my tongue and all I can do is stare at the side of her face, memorizing her profile.

We enter the backyard and she breaks away from me, rushing over to open the built-in cooler the previous occupants made for the same reason we’re using it. It’s made to look like a part of the complicated grilling station though—probably in case the cops ever showed up—so only people that have been here before know about it.

Not bothering with offering her help this time, she immediately flips up the top of the box in my arms and starts unloading the bottles into the cooler herself.

I consider putting the box on the ground to help her, like a decent human being would, but once I catch her scent, I stay rooted. Vanilla and…rosemary? Is that right? Rosemary? A fucking herb? Whatever it is, it’s sexy. I’m also detecting a salty tang—probably from skating—that makes it that much more mouthwatering. Makes her that much more mouthwatering.

Jesus Christ. Now I’m keeping the box in front of my body for a completely different reason.

I force another swallow to ask, “So, you’ve been here before then?”

All the bottles of cider now transferred, she closes the lid to the cooler, then uses her arms to lift herself on top of it, taking a seat that’s more at my eye level.

Before she can answer, Fletcher bounds down the patio steps, shouting, “G!”

My face stiffens. My back stiffens. My everything stiffens. They know each other?

And who the hell is “G”?

The girl doesn’t move, save for spreading her legs wider to accept Fletcher’s weird, not exactly friendly but possibly more than friendly, hug. What the fuck?

While I’m busy debating if I should detach his head from his body, my roommate steps back and faux punches “G”’s arm.

Yeah, I’m gonna have to rip it off. Clean. Off.

Thankfully, the girl doesn’t fake anything when she punches Fletcher’s arm in retaliation and my roommate all but folds over in pain. She does have enough rings to rival any set of brass knuckles I’ve seen.

Fletcher gets ahold of himself enough to ask her, “Where have you been? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

She pulls on the loose tie at her chest and bends a knee to place her foot on the cooler, completely unconcerned about exposing…whatever she’s got going on down there—panties? No panties? Did she forget she’s wearing a fucking skirt?

My gaze shoots to Fletcher’s and the second his drops even a millimeter, I toss the empty box, nailing him in the side of his thick skull.

“What the shit?” he complains, rubbing his temple, and I spin on my heel, facing him, locked and fucking loaded.

Fortunately, a chuckle so warm and rich rings out, stopping me in my tracks. The girl’s now sprawled out on her back—knee still bent, damn it—laughing. As much as I try not to, I let my eyes drop, and I can tell from here she’s wearing some sort of boy shorts under her skirt. They’re actually not bad. They cover everything just fine with extra material to conceal even the bottoms of her ass cheeks, but it’s the thought of those ass cheeks that has me licking my lips, then side-eyeing Fletcher. He’s still fucking with the box I threw at him, which saves me from having to put him in a headlock. For now anyway.

“What’s so funny?” I ask, pulling Fletcher’s attention away from the box as he snarks off with, “Look who’s talking all of a sudden.”

No longer laughing, “G” sits up, studying me. She doesn’t say anything and neither do I. If Fletcher’s still here, he doesn’t either. Is he still here? I honestly wouldn’t know. Once again, it’s just her and me. Me and her.

The corner of her lips pulls to the side.

Her.

“Um, okayyy…” Fletcher says. “Seriously, Gia, where’ve you been?” Gia? “Tell me you’re coming to our party tonight. I promise my boy won’t throw anything else.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fletcher send me a pointed look that I ignore. If I find him scoping out Gia’s panties again, I’ll fucking throw all right. He should plan accordingly.

Only when Gia drops her leg back down do I break from her stare to return Fletcher’s scowl with my own.

“Fletch, Fletch, Fletch, when will you learn?” Gia hops down from the cooler, tugging her shirt sleeves farther down her wrists. “I am the party.” With that, she turns to leave, calling out over her shoulder, “Later.”

And as much as it hurts to watch her go, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather look at in this moment.

As soon as she’s out of sight, I round on Fletcher, demanding any and all information about Gia, starting with how he knows her followed closely by her age. Actually no, age trumps all.

Gia