“Um,” he says, nonplussed.
“Wait, Rica,” Jericho says. “Are you saying thatyou’dgo camping?”
She nods semicommittedly. “I’d wander into an REI if I had to.”
“Yes!” Jericho claps his hands once, twice. Then he turns to Jeffy, anticipating. “Come on, Jeffy. It’ll be so fun. Let’s doit!”
I’m open-mouthed, marveling at what Miles has just manifested.
“Oh, fine,” Jeffy grouches, smiling into his beer. “I’ll go camping.”
I’m laughing while Rica and Jericho cheer and pull a clearly happy Jeffy back and forth between them. There’s a tug on my T-shirt and I turn to Miles.
“Should have asked,” he whispers.
“No, it’s great,” I assert. “You just pulled a camping trip out of thin air!”
“Well.”
“Miles,” I say with a grin. “We’re, like,totallysocializing.”
He grimaces, but there’s happiness in it.
Chapter Twenty
Two hours later the two of us collapse onto Miles’s couch.
“You are filthy,” I inform him.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got paint from Jericho’s costume all over you.”
He laughs with his eyes closed. “So do you.”
“Don’t sleep yet.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
I’m pretty sure he’s sleeping. I jump up from the couch and come back from the bathroom with a wet washcloth. His eyes don’t come open even when I plop onto the couch next to him.
“Hold still.”
He does the exact opposite. Reflexively, his eyes burst open and he lunges away from me. I lunge after him on a laugh, stretching across him to swipe at the silver paint on his cheek and neck.
“Ah!” He’s stiff-arming me away from him. “That’s cold!”
“You,” I pant, batting his hand away, and stretching across him, “have paint inside your ear.”
He’s squirming and yelping and sliding off the couch while I scrub at the paint. Eventually we’re a heap on the floor and I’m making good progress on the paint on his neck. I think he’s succumbed to his reality. He’s gone still, watching my eyes while I thoroughly rub down every inch of his face. I’m warm and happy and it strikes me that I shouldprobably feel awkward sitting mostly on top of him, putting my hands just inside the collar of his shirt, but I don’t. I feel…invited.
When he’s all scrubbed clean I sit back on my heels and grin at him. “My work here is done. You’re brand spankin’ new.”
He just sits up and shoots me a dry look. “Come on.” He tugs me into the bathroom and gets a new washcloth, slapping it into my hand. “Make sure you get the inside of your own ears.”
“Hey!” I shout after him as he leaves. “You’re not going to wash me?”
“Pass,” he calls tonelessly. I can hear him open the fridge door.