Page 19 of Wild Eyes
He clears his throat, like there might be something stuck in it, then his voice comes. It’s quiet and surprisingly sweet. “Oliver.”
“Do you mind if I stay here, Oliver? I’d like to sit and watch the world go by for a while.”
I peek back at him now, wanting to make sure he’s not just saying yes to be polite, but he’s already shifted over on the log. He pats the spot he opened up for me. A genuine grin takes over my face—it pops up out of nowhere—and I close the space that separates us, plunking down beside him.
It feels cozy with the water lapping toward our feet and the roots of the tree curled around us.
“It’s nice to meet you, Oliver,” I say in a hushed tone.
He doesn’t respond, but I see him smile down at the page of the book he’s back to reading.
So I sit with him. This boy I barely know. In a setting that is all new. In a silence that is companionable.
And I can’t remember the last time I felt so at peace.
I don’t know how long we sit on our log. Long enough that the sun drops even lower over the mountains on the opposite side of the lake and the smell of grilled meat wafts down to the shore.
My stomach rumbles, and I realize I’m going to need to get some sort of groceries to cook. Truth be told, the list of things I can cook is pretty limited. I could eat out, but most people aren’t as cool as Oliver, and I don’t feel like being gawked at or asked to sign autographs.
I’m making a mental list of the groceries I’ll need to get for a box of mac ’n’ cheese when I hear heavy footfalls running toward us. Within a moment, a tiny girl is airborne as she takes a flying leap from the yard down to the water’s edge.
“Time’s up, nerd,” she huffs as she lands on the rocks, catching herself easily. Then she’s upright and spins on the spot with one hand already propped on her hip.
Her eyes are blue, but where Oliver’s hair is a dusty, light brown, hers is a strawberry blond that reminds me of my favorite rose-gold bracelet.
“Oh. My. God.” Her dainty jaw drops open and her lightly freckled cheeks glow a bright pink. “Are you Skylar Stone?”
She shrieks the question so loud that I can’t help but wince. When I glance at Oliver, he rolls his eyes.
They’re cute.Reallycute.
“Are you the girl who has been blasting Shania for the past hour?”
She grins, and her eyes twinkle. “Yes. But next time, I’m blasting your music.”
Wow, that sounds like fucking torture.
I don’t say it out loud, but the idea of sitting around listening to my songs makes my skin crawl.
“I could choreograph you a dance,” she adds matter-of-factly.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll come up with one and show you. If you like it, we’ll need to negotiate a price. I don’t work for free.”
Oliver groans like he’s embarrassed, but I can’t help the grin that curves my lips. She’s so…confident. I wonder what it mustfeel like to be that sure of yourself, to have that much faith in your own capabilities. To know your time and work have value at such a young age.
I wish I’d been that aware. I might be in a different position than I am right now.
Don’t worry about it, doll. I’ll take care of everything.
My dad’s voice filters into my head as the flash of a contract being shoved in front of me appears in my mind. That nickname that seemed sweet for so long but now just oozes condescension.
I’d been a doll to him. Prop me up. Make me sing. Collect your paycheck.
If I’d been even a fraction as shrewd as this girl, I might have taken a glance at that paperwork, even asked a few questions.
But no. I trusted him. Implicitly.
