4. Arlo

It’s a good thing I keep some clothes here for emergencies. The last emergency was when I spilled an entire bowl of pasta down my front and over Gordon’s new sofa. I haven’t been allowed to eat on his couch since. I change and step out of my room just as Noah’s bedroom door opens and a shirtless guy in his twenties tiptoes out. He’s focused on the door, trying to close it with as little noise as he can.

“Is he up?” I ask. The guy jumps, and it brings a smile to my lips.

“Where did you come from?” he asks, as his heaving breaths slow.

“My room. Is Noah up yet?”

He shakes his head and clicks the door fully closed. “Umm, can you tell him thanks for me?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be thanking my baby brother for whatever it was you got up to last night.”

He blushes and makes a start for the stairs. “Sorry, okay. Umm, I’ve gotta go.”

“Bye.” I wave, then crack open Noah’s door and peek inside. He’s sprawled out face down on his bed, bare ass up in the air, and he’s snoring. I can’t be mad, not really. He should be able to do this stuff. He’s in college, after all. But was I secretly hoping he would sober up this morning and be fine to drive me? Yes.

I close the door and make my way downstairs. I guess I can order a ride while I grab coffee and something to eat.

As I take the stairs down, I start seeing the aftermath of last night’s party, and when I get to the bottom, it’s clear Gordon’s place is trashed. Bottles, cans and all sorts of things litter the floor. I get that when you’re drunk you don’t really think about what you’re doing, but I could never leave someone”s house looking like this.

A clang sounds from outside, and I head through the back doors to find Harrison fishing bottles out of the pool with a net.

“You’re here early.”

“Oh, hey. Yeah, I was too tired to drive, so I just crashed on the couch. Besides, I thought Gordon might need a hand cleaning up,” he says, swooping the net through the water.

“You don’t have to do that. I don’t think Gordon’s even up yet.”

“That’s okay. So are you all set for your reading?”

My stomach flips at the thought of it. Reading my book in front of who knows how many strangers is top on my nope, don’t wanna, can’t, not for me list right now.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult question,” Harrison adds, laying the net down beside the pool and making his way over to where I’m standing by the back doors.

“I’ve never read my stories out loud before, let alone to people.”

“Ahh, so you think you might have a touch of stage fright?”

“Maybe.”

“Well then, sweetheart, hit me with it,” he says, stepping around me and sitting on a chair by the back door.

“Huh?”

He leans back, resting one ankle on his knee.

“I’m ready, read to me.”

My face grows warm, and my heart is thumping in my ears. He can’t be serious.

“I don’t have the book.”

“You had it last night.”

“I mean, it’s inside.”

“I’m not going anywhere, darlin, go on. Trust me, the first time is always the hardest.”

His lips pick up in a tiny smirk. “Go on.”

I roll my eyes but do what he says and head back inside to grab the book.

When I come back out, he stands.

“You should sit. You’ll be sitting at the thing, won’t you? I mean I can move to the floor, like the kids will be.” Before I can stop him, he sits cross-legged on the tile covering the back patio a few feet from the chair, hands in his lap, back straight just like he might have sat at school who knows how many years ago. He isn’t old, maybe about Gordon’s age, or a touch older. His thick dark hair moves with the breeze, and I catch sight of a few grays by his ears. But it’s the small lines at the corners of his eyes, the marks of a million gorgeous smiles, that hold my attention.

“I don’t think this is going to help,” I say, and he shakes his head.

“You won’t know unless you try. I really want to hear your story. Plus, then I’ll know how it’s supposed to be read when I get my copy to read to my sister’s kids.”

I take a breath and sit. A little practice can”t hurt. I’ve read it in my head a million times I could probably recite it, but my heart is racing, and if I wasn’t holding the book, I’d be even more worried about what the hell I was supposed to do with my hands.

“Okay, here goes,” I say, turning the book so that the cover faces him. “Gordie Goes Bananas.”

“Yaaaaaay!” Harrison says, in a child-like voice, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Are you going to do that the whole time?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Kids make noises.”

I steady myself and open the book. He makes an oooooh noise, and it takes everything in me not to laugh again.

“Gordie always loved baseball,” I read, then I pause. I researched children”s book readings, and it said it was important to pause to let the children see the pictures on the page.

I turn to the next page and keep going. Harrison inches closer after page three, and on page six, he leans forward and rests his chin in his hands smiling up at me. I manage only a small chuckle but hold my concentration to keep reading. When I get to the last page, he starts bouncing his knees as the smile on his lips grows wide.

“That looks like me,” he says in his regular voice, and I lean over the top of the book to see.

“Ahh, I did a lot of sketches of players at the games before…this,” I say, holding up my cast.

“So it is me?”

“Yeah. Is that okay? Everyone signed waivers, but…”

“Darlin, I’m immortalized in a book. It’s better than okay.”

My cheeks warm, and I close the book and stand.

“And that’s it. The story of how Gordie Goes Bananas.”

Harrison claps excitedly from his spot on the floor.

“Again,” he asks, and I shake my head.

“I don’t think I have time to read it again,” I say, checking my phone for the time. He pushes up and brushes off the back of his pants.

“Then we better get going.”

“We?”

“Sure, I mean, I need to buy a copy of the book, so I’m headed there, anyway. Might as well give you a ride.”

“I was going to call a cab.”

“If you really want to call a cab, you can but…”

My stomach does this flippy thing, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m agreeing to a lift. “No, I mean, yes. A ride would be good. Thanks.”

“Wonderful, my truck’s out front, ready when you are.”

“Coffee first. Do you want one?”

“Sure, why not.”

I head into the kitchen and place the book on the corner of the counter while I switch on Gordon’s pod machine and grab us some travel cups.

Harrison takes a seat at the end of the island and fingers through the book until he gets to the last page.

“I still can’t believe I”m in a book. My sister’s kids are going to love this. Did you say you sketched these, too?”

“Yeah. I did way more than I needed.”

“So you have other sketches of me, can I see them?”

My cheeks burn, and I turn back to the pod machine, praying that by the time the coffee is pulled, they would have cooled down.

“Umm, I can have a look for them. Once we decided on the ones we wanted in the book, I put the rest in a folder somewhere.”

I’m lying. I have them strewn all over my apartment, my original drawing of Gordon is framed on the wall in my study, and I can off the top of my head remember where at least three sketches of Harrison are. He’s the catcher for the team, so he’s in more than most of the others, besides Gordon. He did this thing at a game where he flipped up onto one hand, with the ball in his other, clapping his cleats together in the air before coming down, and it killed me that it just didn”t fit anywhere in this story because it is one of my favorite sketches.

Maybe the sequel to Gordie Goes Bananas can be about a catcher? My contract with the publisher sets out that they get first option on any sequels, but with how amazing they have been with book one, I’m not even thinking of going anywhere else.

“I’d love to see them if you find them,” he says, turning his attention back to the book.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

We jump into his Honda SUV and head toward the city.

“Have you always been nervous to speak in front of other people?” Harrison asks, without taking his eyes off the road.

“I guess. I mean, I never liked being the center of attention and growing up with Gordon and Noah, that was never really a problem, because good luck getting seen with those two around.”

I realize how it sounds the second the words are out of my mouth.

“I know that’s true for Gordon. I’m not sure about Noah, though, I only met him last night, but he definitely…makes an impression.”

“Yeah, sorry about him hitting on you, he’s kind of a flirt.”

“Oh, hunny, don’t apologize. We can all stand to be flirted with a little more. Does wonderful things for the ego.”

I take a sip of my coffee, and he goes over a bump in the road, and coffee dribbles down my chin and onto my shirt.

“Shit.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see the hole.”

“It’s fine,” I say, wiping down my front. Why did I think a light blue shirt was the best option to wear today?

“We’re almost there. Maybe we can grab you another shirt from a shop nearby?”

“I don’t think there is a lot open this early on a Saturday. It’s okay. I’ll hold the book up high to cover it.”

He frowns at the road, pulling into a park a few shops down from the bookstore.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anywhere to get a shirt,” he says, climbing from the truck and moving around to my side. He opens the door, and his gaze trails down my chest. “You can’t wear that on your first-ever reading. Here,” he says, taking the coffee and book from my hands and placing them on the roof of his truck. He then loops his fingers under his shirt and lifts it clear over his head.

“Wear mine.”

“What?”

“It will be fine. Besides, at least it isn’t stained.”

I take the shirt from him, my stare unable to not sweep over his bare glistening chest.

“I’m sure I have a jersey in here somewhere,” he says, rifling around in the back. While his head is down, I strip off my shirt and pull his on over my head, careful not to knock off my glasses, if I broke them, there would be no reading today at all. The shirt is made of a stretch fabric that hugs every muscle on his body, but now the elastic fibers are knitting closer together, enveloping me in the warmth of him. The shirt is still a little big for me, so I tuck it into the waist of my pants and pray it doesn’t look ridiculous. It smells like cinnamon, and reminds me of Christmas, eggnog and family, so at least I’ll smell good at this thing.

“Yes!” he calls, emerging from the back with a neon orange and blue baseball shirt. Animal Control written in cursive across the front.

“Right, are you ready?” he asks, grabbing the coffee and book from the roof of the truck and holding them out to me.

“Ready, yes, me,” I mumble, and he laughs and pulls back the hand holding the coffee.

“I think I’ll wait until after the reading to give this back.”

“It was the pothole,” I argue, but he shakes his head.

“Can’t take any chances. That’s the last clean shirt we’ve got, and as much as watching you read bare-chested might be my kind of thing, I’m pretty sure the parents will not approve.”

A flutter crosses my chest, my heartbeat picking up its pace. Is he flirting? He can’t be. Not a guy like him, he’s…perfect. I try to laugh it off and grab the book, then lead the way inside. Unlike every other time I’ve even thought about this reading, my stomach isn’t a churning pot, my hands aren”t dripping with sweat, and my skin doesn”t feel like it”s on fire either. I feel good. Like I’ve got this. And when I take a seat and look up to see Harrison sitting cross-legged on the floor with the other children, I know I do.