“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, fingertips light on my forehead, then barely skimming down my cheek. “There you go. Good as new.”
“Javi.”
“Better than ten minutes ago?”
“Thank you.”
He doesn’t move away, though, and I don’t dare open my eyes. After a second, I realize that his hand is on my thigh, just above my knee, his heat soaking through my soft pajama pants. And I know, down to my bones, that if I do anything, I’ll shatter the moment.
So I don’t. I want to open my eyes and sayIsn’t this harder?But I don’t. It’s not like telling someoneI think you should feel the way about me that I feel about youhas ever changed their feelings.
“I’m glad you settled on this version of yourself,” he says, his voice low and quiet. His thumb strokes across my thigh, once, then stops, like he was doing it without thinking. A shiver rolls down my spine. “It suits you.”
I take a deep breath, then put my hand on his. If I leaned forward, I could kiss him probably, and it would feel like taking off a Band-Aid for days. I think about it anyway.
“I kind of wish you’d gone to art school,” I say, and it breaks the tension because he snorts and gives my knee a friendly squeeze and then he steps back, tension shattered.
“Me, too, sometimes,” he says and gives me a hand as I hop off the counter.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JAVIER
I comeby the next night, too, because Mom and Bastien are leaving soon, and it’s good to spend time with your family while they’re in town. Also, it’s not like my place is a very good hangout spot for everyone. If I spend a while doing the puzzle with Madeline and making her Mexican hot chocolate with a candy cane in it, well, I’m just being friendly.
“You didn’t even offer to make me hot chocolate,” Bastien says as I’m putting mugs into the sink. “And put those in the dishwasher.”
“You didn’t ask!”
“Okay, well, I’m asking now. Next time you’re standing over the stove, stirring milk for ten minutes?—”
“It doesn’t taketen minutes.”
“—half-ass some for your favorite brother, too.”
“It’s a lost cause—he doesn’t want to stick his candy cane into your…”
Bastien and I both turn toward Thalia, who’s appeared in the kitchen. She’s bright red. We’re all dead silent.
“Never mind,” she finally says. “I didn’t think the end of that sentence through when I started it.”
“You’re both embarrassing,” Bastien declares. He nods at Thalia. “You’re gross.” Then at me. “And you want to bang our stepsister.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. Thalia snorts. “Shut up,” I tell her, maturely.
“You know it’s notactuallyweird, right?” she asks, hopping up to sit on the counter. “You’re both adults. It’s barely even scandalous.”
“Do you seriously think Mom would find itbarely scandalous?” I ask before I can think better of it.
Bastien’s eyebrows fly up his forehead, and Thalia wrinkles her nose.
“She’d come around,” she says, shrugging. “Eventually.”
“That wasn’t a denial,” Bastien says. “Hold on, you just?—”
A door shuts, and then Mom’s and Gerald’s voices start coming toward us. Thalia, Bastien, and I all shut up automatically. Thalia hops off the counter, and she and Bastien look at each other.
Then, with no warningwhatsoever, Bastien lunges forward and puts me into a headlock.
