“God, you’re so freakin’ stubborn.”
A smug look settles on his face. “Pot calling the kettle black.”
“Fine,” I mutter, digging my earbuds out of my bag.
He lets me go ahead of him down the stairs.
As I untangle the pink cord, I ask, “What do you think of my mother’s taste?”
“It’s… interesting.”
“Whenever someone saysinteresting, it’s never good.”
He shakes his head, smiling a little. “The reason I said that is because she’s managed to make it sleek yet homey. I think it’s all the colors she uses. Our house back in New York was gray. Not a single touch of color. Well, except Nev’s room, which was pink.”
I grin. “Don’t doubt it.”
He opens the front door, then walks me to my bike, which I parked alongside the Dylans’ garage door. As I shrug on my denim jacket tocounter the nippiness in the air, Ten runs a hand through his mussed hair.
“I’m not sure how to thank you for babysitting my sister.”
“Better not use that term in front of her.”
“She’ll always be my baby sister. Even at thirty, or fifty.”
I think my heart just melted a little. “Believe it or not, I enjoy spending time with her. She’s extremely mature, or maybe I’m incredibly immature, but we totally click.” I clip on my helmet, stick my earbuds in, then plug them into my phone. “Besides, you made blondies. Consider that payment enough.” I wink at him and then roll my bike down the driveway, when my phone rings shrilly.
Ten’s name flashes on the screen. I look over my shoulder and pick up the call. He’s still standing there, one hand stuffed in his low-riding sweatpants’ pocket, the other cradling his cell phone. “You didn’t tell me what you thought of the blondies.”
“They were awful. Absolutely terrible.”
He must hear the smile in my voice because he chuckles softly. “Glad you hated them.”
The gate creaks open, and I climb onto my bike’s saddle. “So, you really won that track meet?”
“I really won.”
“What happened to Bolt?”
“He came in second.”
“Cool. And Archie?”
“Sixth. Wasn’t his night.”
“Happens to the best of us.”
We talk about it while I bike, then about the TV show I watched with Nev, about the food he’s cooking for himself. God, it’s so easy to talk to him. It almost feels like I’m talking with Rae, except when I talk with Rae, my pulse doesn’t perform insane sprints.
We keep talking long after I get home, only stopping when I noticeit’s almost midnight. I dream of Ten that night. He’s a warlock in my dream—a darn sexy one—who casts a spell using a magical whisk (no joke) to make himself vanish, and even though I canvass an enchanted forest in search of him, I can’t find him.
And he never reappears.
42
My Rae of Sun
I’ve tried to shake off my dream all morning, but it clings to my subconscious like an earworm, forever on repeat.
