Float

Original Edition: Chapter Twenty-Eight

I launched myself onto the bed with all the might (and none of the grace) of a professional wrestling champion. When I came down on Blake's back, I landed hard—which was great, because my pirate romance novel tumbled out of his hand, but also decidedly not great, because when I bounced my momentum carried me right off the side of the mattress.

I hit the floor with a thud so tremendous it shook the walls.

Blake coughed (I'd knocked the air out of both of us, it seemed) and stuck his head over the edge of the bed to peer down at me where I lay sprawled on the carpet.

"Is it just me," he asked, "or are you super aggressive today?"

Then, in unison, we both turned to regard my fallen book.

And as my luck would have it, the damn thing had landed cover-up.

"Wait a second—"

I lunged for it, but Blake somersaulted off the bed and beat me to it.

"—what is this?"

He leapt to his feet, examining the cover with wide eyes and a shocked smile. I popped up, hair in my face and chest heaving, and made a move to grab it from him. He just held it up out of my reach and stared at me, open-mouthed with amusement.

"Nothing," I blurted. "It's nothing."

The corners of Blake's lips twitched.

"Well, I had no idea I was interrupting your—uh, reading time."

I folded my arms over my chest, trying to look stern rather than humiliated.

"The plot's really captivating," I said.

"Right," he replied, nodding solemnly. "The plot."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Did you just come over to mock my taste in literature?"

"No," Blake said. "I came over here because my stepmom dunked my phone into a pitcher of sweet tea, and to be honest, it's been kind of a shitty afternoon. I just wanted to see your smiling face. But apparently, you just want to beat me up and then read—I don't know, some stupid pirate romance novel."

My shoulders fell.

"Blake."

He shouldered past me and crawled back onto my bed.

"Don't give me that look," he grumbled.

I watched him settle so his back was propped upright against a blockade of pillows, his eyebrows pinched and his lips curled into a slight frown despite how utterly comfortable he looked. He turned The Prince of Turning Tides over in his hands and scrutinized the back cover, then set the book down on his lap.

"You want to talk about it?" I asked.

Blake shook his head.

"You sure?"

His chest rose and fell with a long breath.

"I shouldn't have said it," Blake blurted. "That thing about her pretending to be my mom. I know it was a dick move. It just came out, like—like it wasn't even me."

I plopped down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under my weight.

Blake reached out one hand and traced the plaid of my pajama pants with his fingertip.

"She just treats me like a child," he added.

"Well, her only experience being a mom is with a toddler."