Page 4 of Yours

“Darcy won the Mecklin prize last spring,” my dad says, eyeing Brian with pride.

My eyes widen. I don’t like to share that kind of stuff—it makes me feel like I’m boasting. “It’s not that big a deal,” I say.

“A thousand dollars and a scholarship to England next summer,” my dad counters.

“Wow,” Brian says, giving me a keen look as I blush. “That’s awesome. Congratulations.”

By the time we’ve made it through dinner, I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been on edge for hours, so when I finally get my dad settled into bed and under his covers, I’m ready for bed myself. Only Brian is still here. When I return to the kitchen, his arms are suds deep in the sink of dirty dishes and pots.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say, hurrying over.

“You cooked,” he says. “It’s only fair.”

“But you’ve already done so much,” I say, trying to urge him to scoot. I give him a playful tap of my hip.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “You can dry.”

I turn to him. Our faces are only inches apart. I can smell the musky scent of him, and it takes everything I have not to dive against his chest for a closer inspection. Gawd, wouldn’t that be ridiculous? Who sniffs other people’s necks?The weirdo in the Wal-Mart jeans, that’s who.

I straighten and shift to his other side, taking each pot from his soapy hands and rubbing the surface dry.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Brian says, plunging his arms back into the water.

“I know,” I say. “But he’s getting older. He shouldn’t be working sixty hours a week.”

“Yeah,” Brian says softly. “I’ll talk to him about cutting back.” He hands me the last pot. “Has he told you that I’m going to start paying him for a share in the business?” he asks. “I was hoping to hold off a few more years, but maybe it’s time.”

“What about your big dreams of moving to California?” Now it’s my turn to tease.

He ducks his head. “Have you heard about that heat wave they’re having? Climate change is gonna make that place uninhabitable.”

I raise my eyebrows. “How ever did you come up with that conclusion? Did you finally learn to read?”

“Very funny, Little Miss Bookworm. Of course I read. I read all the time.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say, but it comes out smug.

“You don’t believe me?” he asks, grabbing the towel off the counter and snapping it playfully at me.

I shriek, then cover my mouth because I don’t want to wake my dad. But Brian’s got a glint in his eye that tells me he’s not done. I race to the other side of the couch, but he’s fast on my heels, snapping the towel at my butt. Then he actually gets me, and I yelp at the sharp sting.

“Ouch!” I cry, rubbing the spot.

“Aw, that didn’t hurt,” he says, winding the towel around his knuckles.

“It did, too,” I protest, even though it no longer smarts.

I return to the sink, keeping my eyes on him and plenty of distance between us.

He smiles. “I think you liked it,” he says, his eyebrow arching dangerously.

My whole face erupts in flames. “What?” I gasp, grabbing the last dish from the sink to dry it, rubbing it harder than I need to.

“I can see what it’s done to you,” he says, sauntering over to my side. His eyes take in my erect nipples pushing out the fabric of my shirt. He lifts my chin. “What do you say we find out just what else you might like?”

The dish in my hands slips and lands on the floor with a crash, breaking into several pieces. I get down to pick up the mess, but he’s right there with me.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at me all night,” he says.

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