knowing the competition is back on.
***
The rest of the day goes by so fast. Sam and I stop off at the comics shop where I spend a small fortune. We have an early dinner at IHOP so I can indulge my love for stuffed French toast. And through it all I only think of Noah Yates when Sam asks about him. And every third minute after that.
It was such a surprise to see Noah outside of the bookstore. It’s almost as if I had convinced myself he didn’t exist outside my store and his. I rarely run into people from the store outside of it, and it always catches me off guard when I do. I’m always at a disadvantage when it’s a purely social moment; in the store, I have knowledge, so I have some sort of control. But Noah…Noah catches me off guard all the time.
Sam laughs and points out how I blush when I talk about Noah. It’s true. I recognize that he’s managed to get me to lower some of my defenses and that absolutely petrifies me. Sure, he may be a good guy. He may even be Sam-quality good. But I’m still me. Sooner or later he’ll figure out what I’m good for and start using me as the punching bag I am meant to be. And for some reason, the idea of taking a thumping from Noah hurts my heart more than I know his fists and feet will hurt my body.
I shove away my still half-full plate of hash browns as the thought kills my appetite. I know I’m going to have to redouble my efforts to get Noah to leave me alone. I won’t be able to live with it if he doesn’t.
I fall asleep on the couch with Sam. We’re supposed to be watching some new police drama movie with Geena Davis and Scott Evans, but I can’t keep my eyes open. The excitement of the day has been too much, so incredibly good, that I doze off with my head on Sam’s thigh. I awaken when he lifts me from the couch. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head against his thick, solid chest, thankful again that my own personal Superman decided all those years ago that I may be poison, but I’m not Kryptonite.
Sam sets me on my feet beside my bed and ruffles my hair. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth, sleepyhead.”
I nod sleepily, pulling my shirt over my head. “Sam?”
“Yeah, buddy?” He turns at the door and smiles at me.
“Today was awesome. Thank you.” I busy myself with my belt buckle so I don’t have to see the expression on his face. My sudden shyness with him doesn’t make much sense to me, except that I’m afraid I don’t tell him thank you often enough.
“It was great for me, too. Well, ya know, except the part where I lost every single race to my bratty little brother.”
He laughs but I already know he’s joking. Winning has never been an obsession with Sam. He enjoys the competition much more than the victory—for himself, anyway. But he always, always makes a big deal out of my victories, even if they are at his expense.
I grin at him. “I got lucky on the last one.”
“Yeah, sure. Lucky. You beat your new friend, too. That had to feel good. Gotta be getting tired of beating me.”
I shake my head and drop my jeans. “He’s not my friend.”
Sam’s brows draw together in confusion. “He’s not?”
I step out of the pool of clothes at my feet, deliberately leaving them there until I come back from the bathroom. Then I’ll put them in the hamper in my closet, but I will not fold them. I haven’t folded my dirty clothes since Sam took me out of state custody. It’s less rebellion against Carl than unlearning a bad habit—or so I tell myself. “He’s just someone I know.”
I look up from putting paste on the toothbrush to find Sam watching me from the bathroom doorway, a quizzical expression on his face. “Aves…I know you don’t have many friends…”
I look down, suddenly uneasy and somewhat sad. “I can’t have friends, Sam,” I whisper.
He reaches out and gently squeezes my bare shoulder, causing my gaze to find his in the mirror. “You do have friends. You have me and the K’s and
***
The rest of the day goes by so fast. Sam and I stop off at the comics shop where I spend a small fortune. We have an early dinner at IHOP so I can indulge my love for stuffed French toast. And through it all I only think of Noah Yates when Sam asks about him. And every third minute after that.
It was such a surprise to see Noah outside of the bookstore. It’s almost as if I had convinced myself he didn’t exist outside my store and his. I rarely run into people from the store outside of it, and it always catches me off guard when I do. I’m always at a disadvantage when it’s a purely social moment; in the store, I have knowledge, so I have some sort of control. But Noah…Noah catches me off guard all the time.
Sam laughs and points out how I blush when I talk about Noah. It’s true. I recognize that he’s managed to get me to lower some of my defenses and that absolutely petrifies me. Sure, he may be a good guy. He may even be Sam-quality good. But I’m still me. Sooner or later he’ll figure out what I’m good for and start using me as the punching bag I am meant to be. And for some reason, the idea of taking a thumping from Noah hurts my heart more than I know his fists and feet will hurt my body.
I shove away my still half-full plate of hash browns as the thought kills my appetite. I know I’m going to have to redouble my efforts to get Noah to leave me alone. I won’t be able to live with it if he doesn’t.
I fall asleep on the couch with Sam. We’re supposed to be watching some new police drama movie with Geena Davis and Scott Evans, but I can’t keep my eyes open. The excitement of the day has been too much, so incredibly good, that I doze off with my head on Sam’s thigh. I awaken when he lifts me from the couch. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head against his thick, solid chest, thankful again that my own personal Superman decided all those years ago that I may be poison, but I’m not Kryptonite.
Sam sets me on my feet beside my bed and ruffles my hair. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth, sleepyhead.”
I nod sleepily, pulling my shirt over my head. “Sam?”
“Yeah, buddy?” He turns at the door and smiles at me.
“Today was awesome. Thank you.” I busy myself with my belt buckle so I don’t have to see the expression on his face. My sudden shyness with him doesn’t make much sense to me, except that I’m afraid I don’t tell him thank you often enough.
“It was great for me, too. Well, ya know, except the part where I lost every single race to my bratty little brother.”
He laughs but I already know he’s joking. Winning has never been an obsession with Sam. He enjoys the competition much more than the victory—for himself, anyway. But he always, always makes a big deal out of my victories, even if they are at his expense.
I grin at him. “I got lucky on the last one.”
“Yeah, sure. Lucky. You beat your new friend, too. That had to feel good. Gotta be getting tired of beating me.”
I shake my head and drop my jeans. “He’s not my friend.”
Sam’s brows draw together in confusion. “He’s not?”
I step out of the pool of clothes at my feet, deliberately leaving them there until I come back from the bathroom. Then I’ll put them in the hamper in my closet, but I will not fold them. I haven’t folded my dirty clothes since Sam took me out of state custody. It’s less rebellion against Carl than unlearning a bad habit—or so I tell myself. “He’s just someone I know.”
I look up from putting paste on the toothbrush to find Sam watching me from the bathroom doorway, a quizzical expression on his face. “Aves…I know you don’t have many friends…”
I look down, suddenly uneasy and somewhat sad. “I can’t have friends, Sam,” I whisper.
He reaches out and gently squeezes my bare shoulder, causing my gaze to find his in the mirror. “You do have friends. You have me and the K’s and
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