Page 89 of Nerdplay
Because I don’t deserve it.
And not only because I registered for camp under false pretenses. It’s more than that. Deeper.
I shove the feelings into a mental trunk and slam the lid shut. I can’t think too hard right now. I am drenched and exhausted, and I want to sleep, which will prove difficult in a confined space with Cricket.
She waits until we’re both showered, dried and dressed for bed to speak. “I appreciate you braving the weather with me. You didn’t have to do that.” She’s wearing cotton shorts and a Geek Chic T-shirt yet somehow manages to look sexy as hell. It’s a gift, one that I wouldn’t mind unwrapping under different circumstances.
“I didn’t do anything special,” I object. “Anybody here would’ve done the same.”
“I know, but you haven’t been ‘anybody here’ until recently.” She waves a hand at the desk. “Feel free to take your stuff out of your bag and let it dry. I’m sure some of your things are wet.”
“Thanks.” I place my laptop on the desk and spot a pack of scratch-off lottery cards wrapped in a rubber band on the corner of the desk. “If you’re saving those for a rainy day, I have good news. The time has come.”
She musters a smile. “I’m in the process of relocating them.”
“You don’t plan to scratch them off?” Cricket clearly needs the boost to her bank account.
“I found these in my dad’s secret stash after he died,” she says. “I’ve held on to them because … Well, I’m not sure why, honestly.”
I dig through my pockets for a coin. “You can use a little luck.”
Cricket barks a laugh. “My dad was many things, Charlie, but lucky isn’t one of them.”
I realize in that moment that Cricket has spoken more about her grandparents than her parents and perhaps there’s a reason for it—that life at Lake Willa wasn’t as idyllic as it seems. The lawyer in me should be salivating at this small revelation, knowing that a chink in Abernathy armor could be useful to LandStar, but the human in me feels only empathy for Cricket. Those lottery cards obviously hold some emotional weight.
“Why not give them up at swag swap?”
“I considered it, but I wanted to get rid of the T-shirt more.” She climbs into bed and inches over until she’s against the wall. “There’s room for you. It isn’t much, but it’s better than the floor.”
Heat rises in my gut and spreads to all my appendages, and I do mean all of them. “I don’t mind the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It isn’t the floor of the Ritz. It’s a hard wooden floor that’s going to be cold and damp right now.” She pats the side of the bed. “I promise not to try anything.”
It isn’t her I’m worried about.
I debate my options, which are basically the floor or the bed. There isn’t even a bathtub to consider.
“I’m six-four,” I tell her. “I’ll take up way more space than you.”
“I’ll manage. Come on. I’m sure we’re both dead tired. It’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, I join her in the twin bed. It’s instantly like a game of Twister, where we each struggle to find agreeable spots for our limbs that don’t encroach on the other person. As she attempts to relocate her arm, her hand grazes my side, and I jerk back. Unfortunately, that swift reaction fails to take into account the lack of bed space and I land on the floor with a thud.
Cricket’s head appears over the side of the bed. “Omigod, are you okay? I’m so sorry. I forgot you were ticklish.”
I climb back into bed, my pride more bruised than my tailbone. “It’s not your fault.” I hear the sourness in my tone and wish I could snatch it back.
Cricket notices, too, but instead of sweeping it under the bed, she asks, “Lots of people are ticklish. Why does it embarrass you?”
Not for the first time, her directness catches me off guard. I find myself matching her candor. “My dad thinks men need to be tough under any and all circumstances.”
“And that includes the ancient art of tickling?”
I nod. “Laughter is a weakness. A loss of control.”
She whistles. “Your dad must be a good time in the sack. I don’t envy your mom.”
I feel myself cringe. “Thanks for that mental image right before I fall asleep.”
