“How are you supposed to do that, Avery? It’s not like the Kings pay their cheerleaders well.”
She groans. “Ugh. Don’t remind me. But that’s why I have my business. The plants will save me.”
“And how is that going for you?”
“Pretty good. It got me a room, didn’t it?”
I shake my head at how pleased she looks with herselfand tamp down on the urge to curve my lips up into something that will only encourage her more.
She sizes me up. “There has to be something you need. It doesn’t have to be money. While I live here, I’ll take care of the plants and?—”
“That’s it. That’s good.”
She shakes her head. “No, it isn’t.”
“There’s nothing you don’t like doing that I can do instead? Laundry? Dinner? Mowing?”
“You’re not mowing my yard.” Something tells me that although Avery has a love for plants, cutting grass may turn into a disaster. Or an injury. Still, I can’t get the image out of my head of her pushing the mower along in some type of cropped shirt, sweat trailing paths down her bare back. Because who mows with an actual shirt on?
I push the thought out of my head. Avery is off limits. She may be living in my house, but we’ve signed papers. Thoughts like that will only derail what we both can’t stand to screw up. And I get why these rules exist. The team wants to protect their image, among other things. It’s understandable, but it’s times like these when I wish I didn’t thrive on the structure—the dependability—rules provide.
She sighs. “Fine. I’ll do your laundry.”
Another image of Avery pops into my head, this time with more clothing on. But now she’s elbow deep in my dresser, tucking away my favorite shirts and socks and underwear… I shake the thought from my head.
A V forms between Avery’s brows. “There has to be something you hate doing.”
There is one thing I have to do that I hate, but there’sliterally nothing Avery can do to help. Because it’s not a household chore. It’s not a bill. It’s something I’ve been dreading ever since their announcement, and especially lately as my mother dives full speed into her newest hobby—wedding planning.
Before I can stop myself, I open my mouth. “Yeah, you can go in my place to my mom’s wedding.”
“Perfect. I’ll bring a cardboard cutout of you and move it around strategically so it seems like you’re actually there.”
I tilt my head. “You said that way too fast. As foolproof as that plan seems, Cardboard-Ty can’t walk her down the aisle.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“Cardboard-Ty definitely can’t do the father-daughter dance.” When she cocks her head, I explain. “My grandpa passed away a few years ago, so I’m kinda standin’ in for him.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says, leaning against the wall like we’re settling in here.
Which we aren’t because I’m definitely not having this conversation with her. Not about my dead grandpa or the fact that my mom and Johnny have been acting like teenagers since they met. I guess, in theory, that should make me happy, but I’ve seen her like this before.
Just because Johnny offered up an engagement ring doesn’t mean he’s different from anyone else who’s broken my mom’s heart. She’d been engaged on three separate occasions by the time I turned eighteen, and each guy abandoned her—us—for a worse reason than the last. One reconnected with his ex-wife, another got hishigh school band back together at the ripe age of forty-five. And one was a cheater. They promised her the world and left anyway, crushing three spirits in their wake.
“Yeah, well, if I didn’t show I’d break her heart, and I’m not gonna be the one to do that,” I say, starting back on my path to my bedroom. “It’d be a little easier to tolerate if I wasn’t expected to dance.”
A throaty gasp sounds off behind me. “You don’t like to dance, Ty?” Avery sounds offended.
I shrug, finally turning into my bedroom. She follows but freezes as she steps into my doorway.
“What are you, some kind of vampire? You can come in,” I say.
“That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Why? You have to invite them in, or else they can’t enter. It’s usually a house, but it’s my room, so…”
My words fall on deaf ears as she spins around in a little circle, taking in the room like she’s a kid at a candy store.
