“I swear to...”
My phone buzzes again.
Golden Boy: Here.
Right on cue. Because of course he is. Probably has an internal clock surgically implanted in his forehead.
“Shoes,” I snap at Celeste, already halfway to the hall closet. “Bag?”
“By the door.” She doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone.
“Snacks?”
“In my hoodie.”
“Water?”
“I am an athlete, thank you.” She pulls on her jacket as if she’s got beef with it.
I yank the front door open, and there he is. Black SUV purring in the driveway. He’s in a grey sweater with a plush black puffer vest layered on top, towering and serious as ever, but there’s something less uptight in his posture today. Maybe it’s the escape from his team responsibilities.
“Morning,” he says, pushing off the car to step toward us.
Before he can get close, Celeste barrels past me, straight for him.
“Ohh, so this is the infamous Beau,” she says, arms crossed, grin already predatory. “Damn, Luna. He’s taller than he looks in pictures.”
“I don’t post pictures of him,” I snap, shifting on my feet. I don’t know what to tell her. This is technically our first date. If you can call it a date, especially since we’ve already explored every part of each other’s bodies. Not that Celeste ever needs to know that. But what do I tell her? “And don’t swear.”
She ignores me entirely. “You look less like a Whitaker and more like a suave lumberjack. That’s a compliment.”
Beau blinks. “Thanks? Is there such a thing as a suave lumberjack?”
“She’s a teenager,” I mutter. “Her prefrontal cortex is nowhere near fully formed.”
He just picks up the rolling dance bag like it weighs nothing and heaves it into the trunk as if to demonstrate his lumberjack skills.
“Exactly. I don’t need freaking smiley-face eggs for breakfast. You’re so cringe, Luna.”
Beau snorts, trying to contain his laugh, and I send him a filthy look. “Smiley face eggs?”
Celeste gives me a smug look. “I like him.”
“Of course you do.” I try to ignore the burning heat in my cheeks.
She races for the passenger door, trying to claim shotgun, but I shove her out of the way before she can squeeze her skinny butt through. Before Beau even snaps his seatbelt shut, she’s fiddling with the high-tech display screen. I have no idea how she figured out how to work that thing so quickly, but she’s got her Bluetooth paired before the back wheels roll off the sharp incline onto the road. Dad’s been talking about getting that thing graded for years. The car fills with the immediate blare of her 'get hyped' playlist. It features all the trending songs I pair with my videos to go viral.
“She controls the music,” I explain, not that I need to. Beau’s jaw tightens every time the bass drops. I reach over to at leastturn it down before he kicks us out of his car. Overstimulation is very real, and there’s going to be enough of that with all the people and chaos at the competition.
Celeste scrolls through her phone. “Okay, so you’re Luna’s...?” She pauses as if she’s waiting for him to fill her in on all the gossip. Like she knows I’m hiding something from her.
“I’m the captain of the men’s team.”
“Of course you are. That tracks. Are you guys like... hooking up, or is this a poor relation carpool situation?”
Since when did my sister become a master of the long pause to extract information from someone? Maybe she’s got a future career as a private investigator. “Celeste.”
“What? I’m seventeen. I ask questions. You always tell me to be curious.”
