Fall Guy (A Youngblood Book), Reinhardt, Liz [best free ebook reader for pc .TXT] 📗

The minutes tick by, and when he finally comes back, his face is lined and grim.

"I should get you home. My brother needs me."

He bites the words off as if he's angry at them.

"It's no problem." I stand up and attempt to smooth the wrinkles out of my dress with the flats of my hands. "I need to get back anyway. My grandparents will be waiting."

For a split second, life tilts back, and I don't know where to put my hands or how to hold myself in front of him, and it seems highly probable that everything we went through in the last few hours was a trick of my socially-starved imagination.

Then he closes the gap between us and pulls me into his arms. His mouth relays a trail of kisses down along my hairline.

"I wish I could stay with you tonight, Evan. I feel like I might fuck this up again if I don't hold onto you."

"You won't."

I let the words slide out with a lazy cool I don't feel at all.

"Can I call you?" He runs his hands over my arms and squeezes at random intervals, like he's checking to be sure I'm really in front of him. "Feel free to tell me no. It'll probably be really late."

"Oh, trust me, I have no problem at all telling you no." His smile makes my heart buzz like a hive full of bees. "But I don't want to tell you 'no' tonight. I'll sleep with my phone under my pillow, like some sappy lovesick girl."

His smile widens and sweetens his entire face, a spoonful of honey in a tall glass of iced tea.

"I can't lie. I'm loving the idea of you getting all sappy and lovesick over me."

His arms twine around my waist and noose me tight. My face is tilted to his, lips ready, tongue ready, all ready for him when another low, long moan rips through the house like a horror movie ghost's.

"You should check on your brother, and then we can go."

I give him one last kiss before I watch him walk down the hall and to the darkened bedroom, his face grim as a reaper's.

Winch 6

Evan was so cool about Remington, I actually started to think I could pull this whole thing off.

We both went to our community service tired as hell, but the dark circles under her eyes only made her more gorgeous to me. They were there because she spent time with me. In my bed, in my arms, on the phone for a good three hours talking about a thousand things, and the funniest part is, by the time I was so zombified the phone was slipping from my hand, it still felt like there were so many more things we needed to say to each other.

But I had to ditch her after community service for family time, and I could tell she wasn't happy about the fact that we weren't going to get to spend any time together again. Which made me so damn happy on one hand, and made me consider fratricide on the other.

Fratricide with my bare fucking hands.

As the endless afternoon wears on, my mother won't leave me alone about my 'mood.'

"What's wrong with you? You've had that face on this whole time." She sloshes some of my beer when she hands me the bottle.

"Nothing's wrong." I take a long pull. “Seriously, Mama. Same face as always."

"Not the same as always." She hands beers to my brother, who's already half in the bag, my father, my uncles, my grandfather, all leaned forward, practically falling off the edge of their seats as they scream at the UFC fight on TV. "You haven't smiled in I don't know how long. I can't remember the last time. Tobar, do you remember the last time Winchester smiled?"

My father looks up from the fight and pinches my mom on the ass. She squeals and he smiles at her, then frowns in my general direction.

"Sure. Just the other day. He was wearing that pink bonnet with all the bows on it, and he smiled so pretty, I wanted to take a picture. Look, the boy says he's fine, Jazmin. I'm sure he's fine. Leave him the hell alone."

He pats her backside and refocuses on the game.

My mother clucks her tongue and scratches my head with her long, sparkly silver fingernails. Pissed as I am, I love when my mom scratches my head like I'm a kid again.

"It's not like you. You're usually happier."

"I think you're thinking of Remy," I gripe, eyeing my brother, who's sitting on the couch with a boozy, oblivious smile on his face while our cousin shows him some stupid card trick he just learned.

Remy looks up at the sound of his name, and his happy smile skids a little. "What's that?"

"Your brother!" Mama's voice rises to compete with the jubilant yells of the guys as the pummeling on the screen gets more intense. "He doesn't look happy."

Remy squints at me. "Same ugly face as always." He shrugs and adds, "I think he's just lovesick."

I grit my teeth. This is payback for the other night. Undeserved on my fucking part, since I mopped up his puke until his guts were empty, but that's another thing with my brother. When he gets blitzed, he conveniently forgets all the stupid shit he does.

Though his memory for my fuck-ups is totally sharp.

Mama leans closer, her dark hair falling over my shoulder.

"You could have asked Lala. I know this is a guys' thing, but she would have been so welcome to stay with me and the girls."

One unintentional dickhead comment, and this is my punishment? I glare at Remy, who blinks with slow, unconcerned triumph.

"Mama, c'mon. Lala and I are done. How many times do I have to tell you that? Remy’s just being a jackass."

The slap on the back of my head is swift and brutal as always, despite how soft and small her hands look.

"I'll wash your