7. Harrison

Gordon texted that Arlo would be staying with him and I could pick him up there for the reading. The message was followed by a second text reminding me “to keep it in my pants.” Like I need reminding his little brother is off limits.

I arrive early, but Arlo is already waiting, pacing the front deck of his brother’s house, hands wringing in front of him. Something’s up.

“Hey,” I call, climbing from the truck and heading over.

“They’ve moved me to a bigger room,” he blurts.

“Huh?”

“The reading today. It was supposed to be in the kids’ section, in the little kids’ section, like the same as the last reading, but my publisher called and said they moved it to the big room.”

His hair is out and hanging over half his face, hiding him from me, from the world.

“And you are worried about how many people might fit into this new room?”

“Exactly,” he says, turning to face me. “I did okay last time because it was small.”

I lean on the post by the stairs.

“And here I was thinking you did so well because I was sitting cross-legged with the kids on the carpet.”

He smiles, and it’s the first time since I walked over that he relaxes even a little.

“You helped.”

“And I’ll be there to help again today. Do you want me to sit at the front? I can push all those niblets back and sit right at your feet, then every time you look down to turn a page, I can be there smiling up at you. Here, like this.” I step forward, drop onto my ass then cross my legs and hold my knees with my hands, look up, and grin as wide as I can.

He laughs, and his shoulders relax.

“You would actually do that, wouldn”t you?”

I shrug. “Sure, why not?”

“Umm, because it’s a children”s book reading.”

“That has an amazing drawing of yours truly in it.”

“Can’t argue with that. Oh, I found those sketches I told you about. The ones of you, did you want to see?”

“Hell yes.”

He blushes slightly before turning away and heading inside. I quickly follow him in.

“This one is my favorite… one of my favorites,” he says, handing me a piece of thick art paper. I know what game it is immediately. I’ve only done that move once. I caught the ball and kicked up my feet into a sort of handstand. I still have no idea how I landed without falling on my ass or how I managed to send the ball right back into Gordon’s glove. I guess I was just really on that day.

“This is amazing.”

“What’s amazing?” Gordon asks, walking down the stairs to his living room.

“Your brother’s sketches,” I say, turning the page to show him.

“The ones of me are better.”

“Are not.”

“Did you get put on the cover of a book?”

“He had to start with you because you’re his brother. If they like looking at your head, then we’ve got hope for the rest of the team’s books to be a smashing success.”

“Funny, dickhead. Thanks for taking him. Noah is back at school, and…well, he’s going through his free college stage. You know the one.”

I laugh because I do know it. I was as free as you could get in college, shit, most of my life after it, too.

Arlo takes the drawing from my hands and slips it back into a notebook.

“I’ll just grab an extra shirt, just in case,” he says and jogs up the stairs.

Gordon watches him go and, when he’s out of sight, walks right up to my face.

“You know I love you like a brother, but that guy there is my brother, and if you try…”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. Do you really think I’m doing this to try to hook up with your brother?”

He sighs. “No. I mean, maybe, a little.”

“Fuck you. I’m being a nice guy here. Besides, you’d be proud of me.”

“Why?”

“I deleted all those dating apps you hated.”

His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Figured I’d give them a break. Not like I was getting much out of them.”

“You were getting a lot out of them if I remember correctly.”

“Okay, so I was getting that, but now I want… I don’t know… More maybe.” I don’t know why it’s so hard to say this to him. Gordon really is like a brother. He’s always been there for me. He’s usually the one dragging me away from bars when I get too wasted to make good choices, and he’s always had my back.

“Good,” he says, slapping a hand on my shoulder. “You deserve way better than those two-minute men.”

“They lasted way longer than two minutes, trust me.”

“Yeah, but after you blow your load, that’s how long they stick around for.”

“Oh.”

“Umm, are you ready?” Arlo asks, walking down the stairs. He’s tied his hair back in a loose knot, and his cheeks hold a rosy pink glow. How much of that did he hear?

“Totally ready. Okay, let’s do this.”

The drive to the library hosting this reading is short, and when we pull into the driveway, he starts clenching the book in his lap.

“You got this,” I remind him. There’s a sign out the front of the library with a big image of the book and Meet the Author in large text. “I meant what I said. You just say the word, and my wide ass is front and center.”

It gains a small smile. It isn’t much, but I”ll take it.

I climb out first, and when I get to the other side of the truck and he isn’t out yet, I open the door for him.

“It’s just like the first time at Gordon’s. Pretend you’re reading to me. Just me.”

He looks up at me with a small half-smile still on his lips.

“Maybe sit on the floor again, but not at the front. The back’s fine.”

“I got you,” I say, and he steps out of the truck. A woman passing us whispers something about chivalry not being dead, and Arlo’s smile widens, sending a flurry through my chest.

Nope. Don’t. You’re not allowed to bang Gordon’s brother. We just covered this. I try to shake it off, but the warm buzz radiates through me the entire walk to the room, and when he sits in the big leather chair at the front and his gaze locks on mine with that sweet nervous smile, I know I’m in serious trouble.

I take a seat on the floor in front of the first row of chairs, and just like the first reading, I get a few looks from children and parents, but this time, no one says anything. Arlo starts scanning the crowd, his fingers white-knuckling the edges of his book, but then the librarian, an older woman in her sixties wearing a long-sleeve red-and-yellow striped dress, begins her introduction. Arlo’s gaze settles on me, and all the weight lifts from him. He relaxes into the chair, props one leg up, foot resting on his knee, and begins the story.

It doesn”t matter that it’s a children”s story, or even that I’ve heard it three times now. The way his voice almost sings each line is something I could listen to all day. When it’s over, they move him to a smaller room for autographs, and I follow.

“Do you mind?” I ask, pointing to the chair beside him at the small table where they’ve set him up. There’s a bookshelf to his right with copies of his book set face forward and another giant banner like the one outside to the left of the table. The kids and parents line up behind me out the door, and he hurriedly nods and pulls out the chair for me to sit.

“That went okay, right?” he asks, leaning in close to my ear to whisper.

“You were amazing.”

The rosy glow on his cheeks deepens, and the first child steps up.

“Are you Gordie?” the little girl asks me, and Arlo chuckles beside me.

“Do I look like Gordie?” I ask, holding up Arlo’s copy next to my face.

“Not really,” the little girl replies, and I flick the copy open to my page.

“I’m not Gordie, but I’m in the book. Look. That there’s me,” I tell her, pointing to the page, and her eyes go wide.

“Cool,” she exclaims as her mother takes her signed copy from Arlo and leaves.

“Sorry, was that okay, telling them it was me?” I ask Arlo. What if he didn’t want people to know he based the characters on real players? He doesn’t like all eyes on him, but maybe he doesn’t want me taking away any of his attention either.

“I love that you want people to know that it’s you. Hopefully, the rest of the players who made it into the book feel the same way.”

“They will. Oh, training starts up soon. Maybe Gordon can have the boys over and you can show them your sketches of them. They’d love to see them. I seriously need to get a copy of that one you did of me. It needs to go on my wall.”

“You want to frame it?”

“It’s art, of course, it should be framed and put on a wall.”

We’re interrupted by the next child, and they continue on in a steady stream for half an hour until everyone has their copies signed and the library takes a few extra photos for their newsletter and website.

“Please come back anytime and read for the children, that was wonderful,” the librarian says before we leave.

“Lunch?” Arlo asks, climbing into the passenger side of the truck.

“Where do you want to go?”

“How about back to Gordon’s? I can make us something.”

“You want to cook?” I ask, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I glance down at his casted wrist.

“Oh, right. I forget it’s there sometimes. That’s kind of how I ended up in the hospital the second time, though, so probably best I wait to prove I’m good in the kitchen. How about pizza? There”s a place only a few blocks away, Louies?”

“Pizza sounds great, and when your cast comes off, you can totally show me how good you are…” His cheeks flame, and I hurriedly add to the sentence. “In the kitchen, I mean. Shit. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to flirt. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“Why would you want to break it?” Arlo asks, his voice barely audible, and his gaze locked on the buildings passing by his window.

“I guess it hasn’t really helped me to attract the right kind of guy, and I’m looking to change that.”

“Your flirting brought you bad guys?” he asks, finally turning to look my way. Where I expected his nervous smile, I find a frown. “I’m not sure I follow.”

I slow as the lights change color and stop behind a convertible Porsche.

“Okay, so see that car there,” I say, pointing out the windshield. He follows my direction and nods. “Well, it’s shiny, and pretty, and loud, and sexy and you think, that’s exactly what you want to be, and when you show everyone how awesome you are, they will all want to be with you. But then they get in and it’s fun for a while, but you can’t take it off road, it doesn’t fit any car seats for kids, it’s built for a good time, do you know what I mean?”

“So your flirting was attracting Porsche men?”

“Exactly.” The light changes to green, and the convertible speeds off. “I need someone with substance. I need to find me a nice Buick guy.”

He laughs.

“What?” I ask, trying to keep my eyes on the road.

“My grandfather drove a Buick. It’s still in Gordon’s garage.”

I laugh, too.

“Okay, a Buick guy who’s between the ages of twenty-seven and forty.”

“At least you know how to flirt. I’ve never been good at that.”

“I’ll teach you,” I offer before I realize what the hell I’m saying.

“Really?”

Now’s your chance. Tell him you were joking and back out. You’re already falling for the guy. You really think teaching him to flirt is the best way to go here?

“Sure.”

Idiot.

I park the truck at Louie”s Pizza, and before I can get out, he turns in his seat and asks, “Okay, so how do you flirt?”

Looks like we’re really doing this.

I face him, and it’s like all the nerves he showed waiting to read at the library have transferred into me. Sweat prickles the skin on my back, and my stomach turns in knots.

He pushes up his glasses and brushes a few loose strands of hair behind his ear.

“There, that right there, you can do that,” I say, and he frowns.

“Huh?”

“The hair thing. Pull your hair out,” I say, and he does, the red waves falling to frame his face beautifully. My stomach flips, and I take a breath hoping my nerves aren”t showing.

“Now brush your hair behind your ear again but do it slower and hold eye contact with me when you do it.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay,” he replies, then his head tilts down a little, his gaze locks onto mine as he reaches up and loops his finger through the loose strands by his chiseled jaw, the back of his fingers brushing against his perfect skin up and over his ear. His tongue swipes at his lower lip, and I gulp, quickly looking away before I reach across and kiss those perfect fucking pink lips.

“How was that?” he asks.

“Good. I mean, great. Yep, do that.”