“You’d love college,” Dumb Name says, helping me nail up a frame. Being on supervisor duty means getting back to basics. “The girls there—they’d eat you alive.”

“I do fine right here,” I tell him.

“Yeah, but the options are limited here.”

No shit.

“Besides, they’re all the same here.”

Not always.

Luke approaches, checks out the frame sitting in the yard, then gets out his measuring tape. “I know how to frame,” I mumble, annoyed. “You gotta give me room to breathe, bro.”

Luke pockets the tape measure. “Sorry,” he says, then: “Have you guys seen my phone? I can’t find it.”

“Have you tried calling it?” Dumb Name asks.

That question earns him an eye roll from Luke. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You ask stupid questions, you get stupid answers,” I tell Dumb Name. Then to Luke: “You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” he murmurs, and then he’s off—probably to annoy someone else. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Dumb Name asks, “Where’s his phone?”

“In my pocket.”

He cracks a smile. “What are we doing with it?”

“We’re dry walling the bathroom this afternoon.”

“You’re putting it in the wall?”

I shake my head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

* * *

Lunch comes and goes. Luke asks everyone at least three times if they’ve seen his phone. Dumb Name and I hang the drywall in the bathroom, patch it, paint it. The best part of the plan is that Luke will be so embarrassed he let it happen to him, he’ll repair the work himself when he finds the phone. If he ever finds it. Just as Dumb Name and I take a break to admire our work, Dad walks in, tells us he has to take off early. “Hot date?” Dumb Name asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Dad sighs, then smirks. “Yes. With yo mama!” And then he does this strange old man dance that he really only ever does with Lachlan. It’s rare that I get to see this side of him—the jokey, carefree side—and I laugh so hard, it makes me breathless.

“Seriously?” Dumb Name asks. His mom’s been single forever, about the length of time Dad has, but the idea of either of them moving on with each other, or at all, makes me a little uncomfortable. Not that I don’t want to see my old man happy. I just can’t imagine him with anyone else. And I sure as shit can’t envision anyone replacing my mom.

Dad taps at the doorjamb. “I’m introducing her to a friend of mine. I think she might do well in an office environment, answering phones and such.”

“She’s not very good on a computer,” Dumb Name says.

Dad smiles. “She’ll do just fine.” He switches his focus to me. “You can finish up early. I need you to pick up Lachlan, take him to training with that specialist sprint coach.”

“Isn’t that Lucas’s thing?”

“Lucas doesn’t know about it.” His words are meant for me. “We’ll talk about it later.” Then he points to the wall. “I hope you at least left the ringer on before putting it in there.”

My eyes go wide.

Dumb Name yells, “It was his idea!” Fucking traitor.

Dad just laughs.

I say, removing my tool belt, “So I’m getting him from Lucy’s shop?”

“Nah. Lucy mentioned that he’s been hanging out at some new store a couple doors down. Stationery or something. Do you know it?”

“Should I be calling your dad or something?”

Lachlan looks up from the pile of notebooks he’s counting and shakes his head. “Lucy already did.”

“And it’s okay that you’re here?”

“Lucy told him you were good people.” He goes back to counting, from the beginning. He’d come in after school again, backpack in tow, and made me come up with a task for him. To help me. As if he could sense that I needed help. I do, just not in the way he thinks. Besides Logan’s occasional text message, my phone has sat stagnate all week. I’m both lonely and alone, and there’s no remedy for that. No cure. There is, however, Lachlan Preston.

I get back behind the counter, pretend to be working as hard as he is. “What do kids around here do for fun?”

His shoulders lift with his heavy inhale, and he looks over at me, his eyes narrowed. I’ve screwed up his counting again. He’s clearly taking it seriously. Maybe my little speech about shoplifters, stock control and loss prevention really got to him. Oops. “Don’t worry about counting the books. Come talk to me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

A smile breaks through, glorious, and there’s no doubt the kid’s destined to break hearts. “There’s a lot to do around here,” he tells me.

“Like what?”

“Like swimming, fishing, jet skiing, camping.”

“And where must one go to do all these?”

“Our house.” His eyes are huge. “You should come over to our house! Yeah! On Saturday! Please?” He’s nodding, hopeful.

“I work on Saturdays.” And that’s stage-six clinger activity, I don’t say.

“Then Sunday?”

Tempting… “Anything that doesn’t involve your house?”

“Batting cages. Movies. If you drive a little bit, trampoline park, rock climbing…”

“Hmm. I don’t have a car. Or a license.”

He eyes me warily. “Aren’t you, like, old?”

I flick the brim of his cap. “I’m not that old. What else? Any hidden gems?”

He adjusts his hat, but it’s clear he’s losing his momentum. “All the fun things to do are at my house. You should just come over. Lincoln—”

“Your friend?”

“My brother, one of the twins… he and Liam—”

“The other twin?”

He nods. “He just got a girlfriend.”

“Liam?”

“No. Lincoln. Come on, Red. Keep up.”

“Got it,” I laugh out. “Keep going.”

“Linc and Liam have been inseparable their entire lives. Like, for real. They even have this weird scar on their elbows, Liam on the left, Lincoln on the right. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I can’t remember. Some days, I can’t even tell them apart. Anyway, these scars—no one knows how they got them. No one. And so everyone thinks they were conjoined twins separated at birth. Dad says they weren’t, but I don’t know. Seems pretty suspect to me.”

A giggle falls from my lips. “I bet they were.”

“So anyway,” Lachlan continues, and I lean against the counter, loving the company. “Lincoln got a girlfriend recently. His first. And now he’s doing all this stuff without Liam. Which, I mean, I don’t really get it. Why can’t Liam go on the dates with them, right?”

“Right.”

“So Liam’s like, lost without Lincoln. He wanders around the house, and sometimes I catch him talking to himself, like Linc is right there next to him. The other day, I saw him have an entire conversation with Linc in the kitchen while he was making a snack. Linc wasn’t even home. And then last night, at dinner, he took two glasses out of the cupboard and set one next to him—”

“Where Linc normally sits?”

“Yeah. He poured the juice and everything. Even said ‘you’re welcome’, even though Linc wasn’t there to say thank you.”

I’m smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. “Your family is fascinating.”

“Not really.” He shrugs.

“Tell me more?”

“Hmm…” He’s tapping his chin. “Did you know I killed my mother?”

My stomach drops. So does my jaw. He said it so matter-of-factly that I stumble over my next words. “I thought your mom died of cancer.”

“Yeah. Right after I was born. Six kids before me, she was in perfect health. I come along, boom, dead.”

“Lachy…” I start, and that’s all I can get out because he’s looking at me with those blue-blue eyes, and I’m looking at him like he’s a poor, lost soul.

“It’s true,” he whispers, dropping his gaze.

“Lachlan, you know cancer… it’s just a really sucky disease, and there’s no—”

“Cure?” he cuts in.

“I was going to say reason. There’s no reason. And if there was, if one day someone really, really smart finds that reason, I can guarantee it won’t be you. It won’t be having a child. Especially one as great as you.”

He’s looking at me again, as if he’s trying to work out if I’m telling the truth. I keep my eyes on his, hoping he finds whatever he’s looking for. I refuse to be the first to look away. I won’t. I don’t. Not even when the bell above the door chimes, my first customer for the day. I’ll lose the sale if it means this little boy understands that he did not kill his mother.

Lachlan looks up at the sound of a short, sharp whistle, so I do the same. Logan’s a foot inside the door, his hands in his pockets. “You playing that staring game?” he asks. “I used to love that game.”

“Yeah,” Lachlan answers for the both of us. “The staring game.”

“Dad had a thing, so I’m taking you. Get your shit,” Logan says, even though Lachlan’s already picking up his backpack. Logan hasn’t looked at me. Hasn’t said a word. Apparently, I’m invisible in the presence of anyone else. When Lachlan gets to him, Logan hands him his keys. “Wait for me in the truck.”

“Why?”

“I’ll let you choose the music.”

“Deal! Thanks, Red! Bye, Red!”

Logan’s still standing just inside the store when his brother moves around him, leaving us alone. As soon as the door’s closed, Logan focuses on me. He doesn’t say anything, just trails his gaze from top to bottom, back again. “What?” I say, crossing my arms. “Let me guess. I look like a unicorn? Or a peacock?”

His smile is faint. “Fuck, Red. You look good enough to eat.”

* * *

It’s only four-thirty, and it’s the first time I’ve ever thought of closing the shop early and maybe walking around town. Maybe catch a movie. I’ll probably be the only one there on a Thursday evening. Scratch that. I’ll probably be the only one there on a Thursday evening alone. For some reason, the idea of this doesn’t completely suck, and so I start switching off all the displays. I take what little cash is in the register and bring it with me down the short hallway to the small office. I’m at the safe when the bell chimes, and shit, I forgot to lock the door and flick the sign to closed. “Sorry,” I call out, rushing out onto the sales floor. “We were just closing up.”

Logan smirks as he turns the sign to closed, locks the door. “We sure were.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m hungry,” he says, and then he’s stalking toward me, his lips lifting at the corners, ending on a smirk. He looks over my shoulder, his footsteps slow. I take a step back. He asks, “What’s down there?”

“My office.” My voice is a whisper.

His smirk gets smirkier, and then his hands are on my hips and his mouth is on my neck and I try to fight him, try to push him away.

“You can’t just come in here and do this. I have plans.”

“Like what?” he says against my skin.

“Like, like…” I’m sure I had plans, but now he’s kissing me, and even if I could remember those plans, I can’t voice them. I can barely breathe. He tastes different. Like him. No aftermath of marijuana. And my feet are no longer on the floor, and my hands are no longer pushing. They’re in his hair, holding him to me while his arms hold me to him, and then we’re in my office and he’s moving shit off my desk, clearing it. I reach for the buttons of his work shirt the same time he goes for the zipper of my dress. As soon as my dress is on the floor and my hands are on his bare chest, he unsnaps my bra from behind, and his eyes go straight to my breasts. “Me love cookie,” he says in a Cookie Monster voice. I laugh so hard, so free, and I want to tell him that I’ve missed him, missed this. Not the fooling around, but the laughing. With him.

“You’re an idiot.”

His face goes serious. “I’ve missed ya, Red.”

My heart stops. One beat. Two. And when it starts again, it’s racing, climbing, soaring. “Me too.” It’s barely a whisper, because anything more means he’ll definitely hear it, and I don’t know that I want him to. I lean back against the desk and reach for his belt, and then his lips are on my nipple, his tongue flicking back and forth.

Logan keeps his gaze on mine the entire time he pays attention to my breasts, moving from one to the other, his eyes bright against the store lighting. I continue to work on his belt, his fly, until he’s completely free and in my grip. A moan escapes me when my hand circles his hard, hot length, and he smirks against my skin, moves from my breasts to my collarbone, up my neck, finishing on my lips. He kisses me deep and slow, while his fingers gently skim up, up, up my thigh, stopping at the apex. He pulls my panties to the side, and I inhale his groan when he realizes the effect he’s had on me. Slowly, so fucking slowly, he slides two fingers inside me, and we’re nothing but hands and mouths and tongues and heated breaths caused by pure ecstasy. My head throws back when his thumb finds my clit, and he goes back to my neck, teasing, tempting. He kisses his way up to my ear, at the same time he pulls his fingers out of me. “I’ve been dying to taste you again, Red. It’s all I can fuckin’ think about.” And then he wipes my pleasure off his fingers with his lips, with his tongue, and my breath… my breath is gone. My vision blurs from need, my core pulsing at the sight of him. Then he does something wild—something completely him. He offers that same taste to me, his index finger strumming on my bottom lip, waiting for me to open for him. And so I do. He smiles, his eyes glazed with the same need swarming through every one of my cells. “Tell me how good you taste,” he demands.

The second I start to shake my head, he covers both his fingers and my lips with his mouth, and I taste his tongue, taste myself on his fingers.

Everything is slow.

Everything is frantic.

Like we’re trying to fuck the evidence of my pleasure with just our mouths alone. “Logan,” I whine, pulling his fingers away with my free hand.

“What, baby? Tell me what you want.”

I grip his cock tighter, start working faster. “I need you inside me.”

He smirks. “Soon.”

“Now!” I barely recognise my own voice.

“Fuck, I love it when you get like this.” He takes a step back, his hands going for my panties.

“What are you doing?” I breathe out.

His eyes narrow. “You want me to do you with your panties on?”

Pushing off the desk, I shake my head. “No, Logan,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of him. I take his cock in my hand again, run his head along my wet lips. “I need you inside me.” And then I take him in my mouth, my eyes locked on his.

“Jesus fuck, Red,” he groans, his head tilting back while his hands find my hair. He grips the base of his cock, his gaze lowering to meet mine. “Play with your tits.”

I do as he asks, tweaking my nipples, and I’m lost. So damn lost in my pleasure. Logan—he makes me feel sexy, makes me feel wanted, needed, like no one has before.

His hips pump, short movements, not wanting to hurt me. “Now your pussy,” he orders.

I lower my hand down my stomach, beneath my panties. My moan vibrates against his length when I slide two fingers inside my warm center.

“Fuck,” he spits out, pushing me away. “I can’t fucking take this.” And then he’s lifting me off the floor until my back’s on the desk, and he’s sliding my panties down my legs. His every move is calculated, yet frantic. He takes a moment to look down at me, naked and spread out on a table, just for him, as if he’s a king and I’m his feast. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I grasp his hand, bring it to my wetness. “I think I have some idea.”

His face pinches, as if he’s in agony. “Dammit, Red. I think… I think I’m stupidly attracted to you.”

A laugh emits from deep in my throat. “Sucks to be you.”

He shakes his head, eyes moving from where his fingers play with my folds, up to my eyes. “You know what? It actually doesn’t suck at all.” He grips my hips, pulling me down to the edge of the table. He stands between my legs, his cock at full attention. “You’re not doing this with anyone else, right?”

All air leaves my lungs, and I hesitate a beat, wondering why he’s asking me this… especially now… when we’re so damn close and my need is heating my entire body. “Only you.”

The corners of his lips lift. “Good.”

It’s one simple word that means more than it should, and I feel my heart beat wildly throughout my entire body.

“Good,” he says again, and then he’s on his knees, his face between my legs, and I stare up at the ceiling, gripping the edge of the table. The harsh lights blur my vision while Logan and I blur the lines, and my hips rise, his mouth and fingers bringing me closer and closer to the edge. My eyes water from the brightness of the lights, and I feel like I’m in heaven… and if this is heaven, I don’t ever want to come down to earth.

I’ve barely recovered from my release before he’s rolling on a condom, finding a home deep, deep, deep inside me. He holds his weight up on his elbows, while he slowly pumps into me, his eyes right on mine. His thumb strokes against my temple, shifting the wetness there. His movements slow, but he stays inside me. “Are you crying, babe? Do you want to stop?”

“No,” I breathe out. “Please no.”

He stops completely.

“Aubrey, if you don’t want to do this…”

“It’s the lights,” I say, kissing him gently, tasting my pleasure on his lips. “They’re bright, that’s all,” I lie. Because that’s not all. And going by the way he’s staring at me, at the way his hips move, his pelvis slowly and achingly grind into mine, the way he never takes his eyes off me, the way he whispers my name with his release right into my neck… he knows it, too.

Something’s happening between us.

Something more.

He settles on top of me, his breaths sharp, short.

“I never want to hurt you, Red,” he whispers. “Don’t let me hurt you, okay?”

“You haven’t,” I assure, running my hands through his hair.

He rears back, his eyes on mine again. “Promise me?”

“I swear.”

He kisses me again, slow and meaningful, as if he’s trying to convey the unspeakable words hidden between the blurred lines of what we created.

I break the kiss, smile up at him, and try to find our level ground again, because it feels as though my world’s been rocked, shaken, tilted off its axis. I tease, “So… you’re attracted to me, huh?”

He chuckles, his lips meeting my collarbone. “Shut up.”

I run my hands through his hair again. “It’s a shame you’re so repulsive, we could’ve had some really cute little red-headed babies.”

“Oh, my god…” he says through a chuckle, his entire body shaking with the force.

I lift my head. “They’d be born with abs of steel like yours.”

He smiles down at me. “We could call our firstborn Leppy.”

“Leppy?”

“Little Leprechaun.”

The back of my head hits the table when I burst out laughing. He tries to drown out the sound with a kiss, but all it does is merge both our amusements. “Are you okay?” he asks, his hands going to the back of my head, soothing the area that landed on the table.

“I’m good.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

I laugh again. And for a moment—just one—I forget the meaning of loneliness.

“Why are you so smiley?” is the first thing Lachlan says when he’s back in my truck.

I school my features. “How was practice?”

“Same as always.” He wipes the sweat from his brow and replaces his running shoes for his everyday Air Jordans—my old ones. “What’d you do while you were gone?”

“Not much.”

“You’re smiling again.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

He sighs. “You think Red will still be at her shop?”

“It’s not her shop.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Not, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is. She owns it. She told me.”

I pull out of the park once his seatbelt’s on. Lachy trains three times a week, plus whatever Lucas has him doing. The training with his specialist coach is at the high school—the facilities are better here. I make my way out of the familiar grounds and onto the road, wondering how it is I never worked out that it was Aubrey’s shop. I always assumed she managed it. Now the whole calling me for Lachy shoplifting makes sense. I just assumed she used it as a way to get to me. Obviously, I’ve assumed a lot of things about Aubrey. Truth is, I don’t really know her. I should probably change that if I expect her to keep giving me the best blow jobs in the history of the world.

“So,” Lachy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I adjust in my seat, push away memories of her mouth. “So, what?”

“You think she’ll still be at work?”

She’s probably still trying to find her underwear. They’re in my pocket, just FYI. “Maybe. Why? Did you leave something there?”

He shakes his head. “Yesterday, I was telling her about the pizza place. You know, the one with the taco pizza?”

“Yeah.”

“And she said she would love to try it, so I thought… I mean, maybe we could order it and bring it back to her. Have dinner with her. I think she’s lonely.”

At his final word, my foot slips on the accelerator and we get jolted forward. My arm instinctively extends, pushing Lachy back in his seat. “Sorry.”

“All good. So? Can we?”

I shrug. “We can drive past, see if she’s there. If she is, then sure. Why not?”

* * *

Aubrey is still there, and so I give Lachy a twenty and get him to order the pizza. She’s at the corner of the store counting a pile of books, and even though the sign says closed (because I made it that way), the door is unlocked. I open it, and the second I do, my ears are filled with the sound of her horrible singing. There’s no music playing, but I can see the cord of the earphones hanging from her head. She’s obviously listening to Ed Sheeran and echoing his lyrics, as if she can sing, as if just anyone can actually sing Ed fucking Sheeran. I should move. I should let her know I’m here. I should do something more than just stare at her, smiling like an asshole. Now she’s screaming the lyrics, and I’m holding back a laugh because she’s that bad. Finally, finally, the singing stops, and she drops the books on the floor, creating a loud thwack that echoes off walls. She moves to the right, picks up another stack of books, and starts counting them, too. She starts singing again. No. She’s rapping. Snoop and Dr. Dre to be specific, and what the hell kind of playlist is this? She’s dropping F-bombs as naturally as I breathe, and now I’m laughing out loud. I can’t help it. But she doesn’t hear me, the bass through her earphones loud enough for me to hear. My legs eventually move, as if on their own, one foot in front of the other toward her. I jump back when she starts moving again, rapping louder, her hips swaying quicker, throwing up gang signs that could possibly get her killed. My hands settle on her hips, their favorite place, and she turns swiftly, screams, holds a pen like a knife raised in the air. “You asshole,” she shouts, and I laugh harder.

When she removes the earphones, I say, “You got some voice there, Red.”

“What the hell are you doing?” she’s clutching at her chest, the freckles on her nose a shade darker than normal. “You scared the fuck out of me. And, hey”—she swats my chest—“did you take my underwear?”

“Memento.”

“More like trophy.”

“You say potato, I say tomato.”

“That’s not how the phrase goes.” Her eyes narrow on mine. “Have you been smoking?”

I shake my head. “Lachlan’s getting us some food. We’re having dinner together.”

“You and me?”

“And him.”

“Oh.” Her gaze drops. “That’s cool. But seriously, can I have my underwear? I’m not digging this breeze.”

I reach into my pocket, hand them to her. She puts them back on in her office. She does not allow me to watch.

* * *

Aubrey loves the pizza, and Lachy says, pointing to her, “I knew you would!”

We’re sitting on the cold tile of her shop floor, pizza between us, soda can each. She says, “You did say that. I was going to order it tonight, but by the time I walk home, it would’ve been cold. I checked online. They don’t deliver.” She frowns.

“You gotta call Peter,” says Lachlan.

She asks, “The guy who delivers my packages?”

Lachy nods, finishes chewing. “He delivers everything. He’s the town’s only Uber, Lyft, Curb, and taxi driver, too.”

“He farts in my store,” she tells him, and he laughs.

“He says it’s a medical condition,” Lachlan replies.

They continue their conversation as if I’m not here, and to be honest, I’m not even mad about it. If Lachy is right, that Aubrey is lonely, I’m glad Lachy’s spending time with her. Time I can’t. As if Peter heard us talking about him, he enters the shop—the door still unlocked—and Aubrey gets to her feet, signs off on the package.

He doesn’t fart.

Aubrey inspects the small, square box and sits down again, her legs crossed.

“Stock?” Lachy asks. “If you leave it until tomorrow, I can unpack it for you.”

She smiles at him, the kind of smile that’s normally followed by a pat on the head or shoulder.

“I ordered them yesterday,” she tells Lachy. “I didn’t think they’d get here so fast.”

“What is it?” he asks, and her gaze flicks to mine for half a second. She uses my keys sitting next to me to cut the tape, then open the package. Inside are a bunch of markers, all different colors. Nothing spectacular.

“Are they Copics?” Lachy rushes out, sitting up on his knees to get a better look.

“You know what they are?” I ask him.

He shrugs, sits back down. “I’ve seen them on YouTube or something.”

“What are they for? Drawing?”

Aubrey answers for him. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“You draw?” I ask her.

She ignores my question. “I was thinking of setting up a desk in the corner, having them out for kids to use when their parents come in here. The longer they’re here, the more chance I have of actually making a sale.” She sets the markers to the side, picks up another slice of pizza.

I sip my soda.

Lachlan watches her. After a while, he says, “Aren’t they, like, really expensive?”

Aubrey shrugs. “They’re worth it.”

* * *

I’ve never slept with a girl sober. I mean, I’ve had sex with girls without being under the influence of Mary, but I’ve never slept with one. And I have a feeling that if I take Lachy home first, then Aubrey—she’s probably going to expect that, and if I do, then there's the possibility of what happen while I'm asleep. Dreams are too vivid and memories are too real, and I wake up constantly, my search for answers and reasons making it impossible to sleep again. When I smoke, I sleep through the night. When I smoke, I never have regrets. When I smoke, I am weightless. Not just physically, but mentally.

There is no burden to keep me down.

I am liquid, ebbing, flowing.

I am pulling into Aubrey’s driveway.

“Thanks for the pizza,” she says, looking at Lachlan.

“No problem. I’ll walk you to your door.”

Aubrey’s finger runs along my palm as it sits between us. She doesn’t hold my hand. Doesn’t squeeze it. “I’ll see you later?” she asks, and I don’t know if she means later tonight or tomorrow—like our original plans—but I nod anyway. When she starts to leave, I grasp her finger. Hold it. It’s as close as I’ve ever gotten.

Lachlan walks her to her door, and he’s smiling like an idiot, and I’m smiling at him smiling like an idiot, because never in my life did I ever think that Lachlan and I would be after the same girl. Leo: plenty. Lucas: just to piss him off. The twins: only celebrities. Lucy: well… that’s to be determined.

Their mouths are moving, but they’re speaking so low I can’t hear what they’re saying, and then Lachlan’s hugging her. Not in the way Liam hugged Laney right before he went for the boob grab—so I’ve heard, I wasn’t there—but he’s hugging her like how he hugs Dad or how he hugs Lucy.

Like how I used to let him hug me.

Back in the car, Lachlan faces me as he buckles himself in. “I think you should do more than just sex Red.”

Me too, buddy. Me too. I keep that thought to myself.