Page 8 of Saving Sparrow
Elliott shook his head again.
“Do you not want to go to your appointment?” I asked next. Elliott peered down at himself. “You don’t want her to see you in that,” Iguessed. “You can come to our house. It isn’t too far. You can borrow something of mine.”
Elliott fisted the dress, and I decided to make introductions, hoping it would make him less nervous.
“My name’s Miguel, and this is Quentin.” I sighed when Quentin cleared his throat. “Or Q for quarterback,” I mumbled. “We’re stepbrothers.”
Quentin gave me a disapproving stare. He didn’t like it when I called him that, said it made us seem less important to each other than we were. Calling him my brother felt weird, though, especially when we looked at each other the way we did.
“We just turned eighteen. Our birthdays are a couple days apart. How old are you?”
Elliott just watched us, and it was hard not to stare back. He was the prettiest boy I’d ever seen.
“Will you be staying here for a while? We could show you around town. There isn’t much to see, but there’s a cool library in the town center.” I felt the opposite of cool the moment I said it. “Er, there’s a badass pizzeria-bowling alley there too.”
Quentin slung an arm over my shoulder. “Ipersonally think the library is way cooler.” He winked at me, and I smiled.
“So, want to come?” I asked. “We look like we wear the same shoe size. I can lend you a pair of mine. We’ll walk you back too. Or drive you. Quentin has his license.”
Elliott chewed his bottom lip, nodding.
“Here, take my shoes.” Quentin stooped to unlace his sneakers.
“He can take mine. Yours are too big.”
“No,” Elliott said before I could kick out of my Chucks. Quentin and I froze. Elliott’s voice was soft and shy, not girly, but nicer than any guy’s voice I’d ever heard. “I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, well, stay behind us,” Quentin said, pushing to his full height again. “That way we can look out for anything that may hurt your feet.”
We took off, Quentin and I scanning the ground as we went.
Elliott hesitated when the back of our house came into view.
“It’s more modern than yours,” I said. “My stepfather had it renovated before we moved in years ago. It looked a lot like the Lenox House beforethen. It was supposed to be a new-beginning home, but…” I trailed off, looking at Quentin before adding, “…things changed.”
Quentin squeezed my hand before leading the way inside.
We entered the kitchen through the patio doors, Quentin grabbing bottles of water and snacks from the fridge before we made our way upstairs.
“My stepfather travels a lot for work,” I said as we made our way down the hall. “The housekeeper comes a couple times a week, but Quentin and I practically raise ourselves. There are plenty of bedrooms here, but we’ve always preferred to share.”
Elliott stood at the threshold of our room, staring at the single big bed in the center of it. Quentin and I preferred to share that too. “We’re pretty close,” I offered in explanation, wondering if Elliott judged us for it. Most people would—and did. We didn’t care.
Stacks of books overwhelmed my side of the large space, while Quentin’s football gear and sports memorabilia overtook his side. We were complete opposites in all ways but one. We loved each other more than anything. That we agreed on.
I entered our walk-in closet, returning with an armful of clothes. “Quentin’s stuff won’t fit you, but mine should work.” My muscles weren’t as jacked as Quentin’s, but I wasn’t frail either. “There’re a few things you can choose from.” I pointed to the bathroom on my side of the bed.
“Thank you,” Elliott said, heading that way.
I hadn’t realized I had stood there staring at the closed door until I felt Quentin’s gaze on me from the sitting area.
“What?” It came out defensive.
“Nothing.” He went back to clearing his junk off the couch.
“It’s not nothing. And since when do you hold back?”
Quentin stalked over to me, backing me into the nearest wall. I found it hard to breathe, and it had nothing to do with his muscular chest pinning me in place. “I don’t like the way you look at him.”
