Page 33 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Oops,” he says an octave lower, and we share a grin just as Ruby bursts back into the room, holding out his‘ears.’

“You’re not going to smoke tonight either?” I ask Thatch after he denies the joint I offer, crossing his arms as he leans against Dad’s workbench. His eyes continually roll over me in assessment as if he’s debating something.

“What’s your issue, pusher? Is this your dealbreaker?”

“Of course not,” I frown. “I can get you a beer or something.”

“I don’t have to have a buzz to hang with you,” he states with an edge.

“Geesh, a bit testy tonight, are we?”

“Sorry,” he utters, “I’m not trying to be a dick.”

“Well, you could try and talk to me.”

“I am talking to you.”

“You know what I mean,” I cut through the bullshit. “Why are you so on edge? Even when you chill here, it’s like something’s going on just underneath.”

“That’s called being human,” he mutters, “we all have shit going on.”

“Fine,” I sigh, sliding down to the floor and crossing my boots. Taking another hit, I glance up to see the same quizzical stare as I take him in. He’s dressed similarly. Long-sleeved thermal—this one deep blue—tattered jeans and boots. Tonight, his hair is a little more tousled, as if he’s been running his hand through it all day.

“What?” I ask after a few bated seconds. He shifts so he’s standing next to me before sliding down the wall, mimicking my stance before tapping his boot against mine.

“Okay, hit me,” he states, and I hold out the joint.

“No, Serena,” he waves the smoke away as if he’s allergic, “with your questions.”

“Why is Allen Collins your best friend?”

“Because, in a way, he saved my life.”

“How?”

“By giving me a job. I needed the money.”

“Your parents—”

“Are not in the picture,” he dismisses.

“What do you do for fun?”

“Don’t know anymore,” he says, lifting a leg and resting his forearm on it. “It’s been a while since I attempted fun.”

“You’re right, you’re too boring for me,” I joke, nudging him.

“I’m not the one meeting a bore in a miniature shed every night. I’m working my ass off. What’s your excuse for your naked social calendar?”

“I’ll sound like an asshole if I tell you,” I say.

“Oh, it’s then you’ll sound like one?” He chuckles and I glare over at him.

“Sorry, tell me.”

“Forget it.”

“Don’t be a brat,” he nudges me. “Tell me.”

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