Page 32 of How to Prevent a Fumble

That familiar tinge of regret and unease threatens to rear its ugly head, but I push it down, refusing to acknowledge it.

Leo nods as his fingers grip the top of the doorframe, and I fight just as hard not to acknowledge his arms. “You can tell me anything, Briar. I know I may not seem like the most trustworthy person on the outside, but I am. And I can help with anything.”

“I think I’ll be fine,” I tell him, not sure what else I can say.

Leo Warner saying something sweet is absolutely not something I ever thought I’d hear, but he’s been nice this entire night.

It’s a side of him that I don’t see too much.

“What’s that one?” he asks, nodding to the right.

“There’s like twenty over there,” I tell him with an eye roll.

“The blue one on top.”

“The Snow Patrol album? One of my favorites.”

“Aren’t they that band that plays that one song?”

I snort, and I watch as his eyes widen, a soft smile playing at his lips. “I mean, they are the band that plays that one song. Just like every single other band here is.”

“You know which one I mean!” he chuckles, his back now to the right side of the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, his muscles popping through the thin material of his long sleeve shirt.

“If you mean Chasing Cars, then yes.”

“What show was that from again?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’ve never watched a single episode of Grey’s Anatomy, Leo, and I still know it had something to do with someone dying.”

It’s probably one of the few reasons I still love that song. Every time I play it, Zara breaks down in tears.

Leo smiles. “Yeah, that one.”

“Anything else I can help you with?” I ask him as the door across from mine opens, Elara finally emerging in her pajamas.

“No, that was all,” he tells me, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

“Leo!” Elara exclaims as she jumps to give him a high-five. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“If I got a puppy, could I keep it here?”

“Wait,” I stop her. “Where is this coming from? I said nothing about a puppy ever.”

Elara pops her hip. “I heard Uncle Owen talking to someone on the phone about a puppy,” she says to me before turning back to Leo, leaving me with my jaw hanging. “And I know convincingmom,” she rolls her eyes in my direction, “isn’t the problem.”

“Excuse me?—"

Leo shakes his head. “No can-do kiddo. I’m not a huge fan of dogs.”

“Why not?”

“They carry fleas.”

She shakes her head, her cheeks turning red. “Not if you take care of them. I’ll brush him every single day. And give him baths.”

Leo looks at me, and if he wasn’t smiling, I’d think he was being tortured.

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