Page 212 of Charming Like Us
Jesse shrugs, but a hopeful light reaches his eyes. “Not busy at all. Zero percent.Unless…something comes up?”
“Sulli wants to start free-soloing all her dad’s old routes,” I tell him.
Sulli announced this plan to her family yesterday at her dad’s birthday party. The reaction was heavily mixed, not everyone in full support of her new goal. She’s free-soloed before but conquering every mountain that Ryke Meadows has scaled (with no harness, no rope) is lofty and dangerous. It even freaks the fuck out of me.
I continue, “I’m going to need to film her forWe Are Calloway, and I could use a PA that I trust a hundred-and-ten percent.” Because filming her climbing is going to be a nail-biting, nerve-inducing ordeal.
“That’s me right?” he asks, hopeful still.
I smile. “That’s you, Utoy.”
“We Are Calloway?” he asks in disbelief. “You’re going to let me on a WAC production?”
“Only on the weekends,” I say. “And Mama and I agreed that if it interferes with your school, it ends immediatl—”
He hugs me.
I wrap my arms around my little brother.
“Thank you,” he mutters into my shirt.
We split apart. Everyone begins to go, and I end up in the passenger seat of the Black Widow. Oscar at the wheel.
Before we drive off, Oscar asks, “You were good with telling everyone we’re married back there? No hesitations about what Oslie supporters might say about the marriage?”
“No hesitations.” I smile. “All I want is to shout that you’re my husband. Literally, I could fucking scream it out the window for two hours. Why hold anything in?”
We share a bigger smile.
“Yeah, I can definitely live with that answer.” Oscar switches on the music. “Let’s keep moving, Highland.”
We drive and jam out to my favorite band. Singing smoothly at the top of our lungs, our hands clasped between our seats. He clutches the steering wheel with the other, and mine taps the car to the rhythm. Our gazes latch affectionately, powerfully in every other beat.
His love carries me through the barrel of every wave. I’m already up on the board.
I’m coasting on these feelings. Riding them to shore.
44
OSCAR OLIVEIRA
The sun setson the penthouse rooftop. Oranges bleed through the sky, and rays soak down on the most gorgeous guy.
That’s right, my husband.
Our post-elopement engagement party is still in full swing, but we snuck away for a second to watch the sun drop behind the Philly skyline.
We’re headed to the edge, but I seize his hand. Stopping him near the pool. A donut inflatable tube drifts over the blue water.
“I have to tell you something.”
He frowns and spins more to me. Our buttons are popped on our shirts. Hot sauce stains on his, thanks to my baby sis shaking a bottle too hard.
He couldn’t be hotter. Or more confused.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I laugh. “Nothing is wrong. This is legitimately the best day of my life.” I know he can feel that because his smile is a thousand-watts of beauty. “But the something I want to tell you probably isn’t on your radar, and I wanted to throw it out there.”
