The crawling tunnels come next, which is where I discover that my knees have opinions about supporting my body weight on hard surfaces. Strong negative opinions.
“Oh god, I’m elderly,” I groan, army crawling because it’s slightly less painful.
“You’re only twenty-five,” Jared calls from behind me.
“Twenty-five in gay years is like forty-five in straight years. It’s science.”
Emmy’s giggling ahead of us, having zero trouble with the tunnels because she’s four and probably made of rubber and magic.
“The view’s not bad from back here,” Jared says in a low voice.
I turn back to flash him a grin. “Stop objectifying me. I’m more than just a spectacular ass.”
“You’re right. You’re also spectacular thighs.”
“And spectacular everything else,” I say, then immediately panic because Sophie’s probably hearing all of this and thinking I’m some narcissistic weirdo trying to corrupt her brother.
I bet she thinks Jared can do better than me. That’s why she doesn’t seem to like me, right? She knows how gorgeous Jared is, and also knows Jared is a kind-hearted guy who would probably adopt every stray animal and person if given half a chance, including scarred ex-retail workers who make inappropriate jokes.
The claustrophobic feeling growing inside me has nothing to do with the fact that I’m crawling through a tunnel.
My mind churns as we navigate through the next few rooms. What can I do to make her realize I’m good enough for her brother?
Because I am good for Jared. I’m sure of it.
Not just the sex, but we get each other’s sense of humor. I can tell when he’s had a rough day and needs me to gently coax him out of it by teasing and laughing. I know he needs protein after long shifts, so I always have those disgusting energy bars he likes stocked in my kitchen. I remember which episodes ofGetting the Goonsmake him laugh when he’s stressed. I can tellthe difference between his “I need space” silence and his “please distract me” silence.
We come to a massive ball pit that looks like a rainbow exploded.
Emmy immediately dives in, disappearing beneath the multicolored surface like a tutu-wearing submarine.
“Someone has to go in with her,” Sophie says, looking uncertain about wading into the ball ocean herself.
“I’ll volunteer as tribute,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to drown in balls. Wait, that came out wrong.”
Jared snorts with laughter. Sophie looks at me like I’ve just suggested sacrificing a goat.
Note to self: definitely be less weird around Sophie.
I wade into the ball pit, immediately sinking to my thighs. Emmy pops up like a demented jack-in-the-box, pelting me with balls.
“This is war!” I declare, dramatically falling backward. “I’m drowning! Save yourself! Tell my cat I love her!”
Emmy shrieks with laughter, swimming through the balls to “rescue” me. I flail dramatically, making gurgling sounds that would embarrass anyone with dignity.
A little boy, maybe six, wades over to us. “You look weird,” he tells me, pointing at my face. “What happened to you?”
Emmy’s face goes fierce, her hands balling into fists. “He fought a dragon! And he won! So you shut up!”
The boy’s eyes go wide and he scrambles away. Emmy turns to me, satisfied. “I told him.”
“You certainly did. Thanks for defending my honor.”
“Dragons are dangerous,” she says seriously. “You’re very brave.”
I glance up to find Sophie watching us. Something complicated crosses her face before she looks away.
I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.
