Page 25 of The Rowdy Ones

“No movies,” he promises. “We could go ice skating.”

“Ice skating?”

“Wait… You don’t know what that is? Have you been living under a rock?” He cracks up laughing at his joke. “Don’t answer that.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ll take care of you. I promise.” He squeezes my hand. “It’ll be a proper date and everything. I’ll pick you up, bring flowers, and we’ll eat while we’re out. Say yes, Destiny.”

I can’t help my cheesy grin. “Yes.”

I’m going on a date.

This is good.

“You’re sure about this?” Uncle Atticus asks, heavy footsteps pacing the floor in front of me.

“Yes. It’ll be fun.”

“But he’s a boy and I know what teenage boys want. One thing. You know what that one thing is, kid? Trouble, that’s what.”

Weston was right. I’m extremely sheltered. Not just because of living out in the wilderness, away from civilization. No, my family shelters me because they see me as weak because of my near blindness. I’m someone to be protected, not someone who can protect herself. It’s annoying.

You couldn’t protect yourself with Jace…

Fear and uncertainty make me question everything, but I quickly squash it. Weston is nice. He’s nothing like Jace. For one, he asked me out rather than kidnapping me. I bet if we ever got to the sex part, he’d make sure I was good with it first.

“Take this,” Aunt Eve says, taking my hand and dropping something cold into it. “Switchblade.”

“Where the fuck did you get a switchblade, woman?” Uncle Atticus hisses, horror in his tone.

“Amazon,” she replies as if he’s stupid.

“You should be banned from that place,” he grumbles. Then, to me, he sighs. “But yeah, stab him in the balls if he gets handsy.”

I gasp at his words and Aunt Eve laughs. It’s rare, but she does it from time to time. A smile finally tugs at my lips too.

“If I promise to stab him, will you guys leave him alone when he picks me up?”

Neither of them makes that promise.

Knock, knock, knock.

Cold air rushes in and Uncle Atticus greets Weston with gruff, intimidating words. I shove the knife into my coat pocket, keenly aware they willingly gave me a sharp object despite what I’ve done with one in the past, and make my way toward the sound of their voices.

“Hey,” Weston chokes out, fear in his voice. “Am I about to get murdered and my body disposed of in the woods?”

“Yes,” Aunt Eve blurts out.

“Oh my God,” I groan. “They’re kidding. Do I smell flowers?”

“Yeah, these are for you.” Weston takes my hand and guides it to the wrapped bundle of flowers. “Careful. They’re roses and they have thorns.”

“What color are they?”

“Pink. Like your cheeks.”

Warmth pools there and I feel kind of dumb. But it’s also sweet. “Thank you.”