Page 54 of How to Prevent a Fumble

Owen nods.

And I start to panic. I wasn’t expecting her to be here. “It was wild that they picked you out of that huge list, wasn’tit?” I chuckle nervously, trying to catch her eye and hoping it isn’t too obvious.

Her brows furrow as she shakes her head. “Leo, you specifically asked for me. What list are you talking about?”

I want to hit my head against the wall.

“The list they made me choose from.”

She rolls her eyes. “Leo’s lying. He specifically wanted me.” She pauses. “Wanted me for the job I mean.”

Owen grows an even darker shade of red.

“Anyways!” Briar smiles. “Did you get a dog? Oh my god, Elara said she overheard you on the phone talking about getting one! We’re going to have so many puppy dates,” she says as she crouches, extending her hand for the puppy to smell. “What’s her name?”

“Peaches!” Isla smiles, tucking her brown hair behind her ear.

“Gross,” I say under my breath, knowing Owen calls my sister that like some kind of weird pet name.

“What was that?” Owen asks, challenge clear in his eyes.

I shake my head. “It’s a great name!”

I’m lying. A great name would be something like Star Scream.

Bring the Decepticons up in this bitch.

Just think about it. You’re at a dog park and call for Star Scream and it’s just this little puppy that comes running up.

Yeah, the next dog I get will be named Star Scream.

The next dog?There will be no dog.

“Yeah. I hope you guys have a great night. Here’s your spare key, by the way.” I hand it over, avoiding Owen’s glare.

And I’m out.

OWEN (Pookie)

The only reason I’m pissed is because the sheer amount of shit you put me through last year, man. My sister can handle herself. She knows what’s best for her and I trust her judgment. Just don’t fuck it up.

Running my hands over my face, I think about the choices I made to get me here. What did I really do wrong?

Okay, well, I did a lot wrong. But why?

That’s a problem for my therapist to solve, actually.

Now I just have to find a therapist.

Pulling out my phone, I scroll through a list of therapists in the area, but I can’t bring myself to schedule a consultation.

Do I really need therapy?

I’m doing great on my own.

It couldn’t hurt, right?

Instead of making a decision, I put my phone away, instead opening my reading app to the find I had drifted off during the most toe-curling smut ever.

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