Page 26 of Under My Skin

Chapter Twenty-Six

EVERETT

Still not sure how I got roped into this on my day off, I toss the Transformer with missing pieces into the trash bag I’m holding.

It’s weird being back in this room without it being Simon’s room anymore.

I haven’t been in here since he moved into his first apartment over ten years ago.

Back then, he only wanted the bare essentials.

He wanted to start fresh, without his childhood belongings bogging him down.

I’m pretty sure he even told his parents they could throw away everything he left, but you wouldn’t think that by the way he’s staring at me.

“Did you just throw away Bumblebee?”

Reaching back into the bag, I pull out the black and yellow tangled mess of plastic. “This is not Bumblebee. This is a broken toy.”

He snatches it from my hand and starts messing with it. “So? He can still transform. He’s only missing an arm.”

He flips the pieces back and forth like he’s trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube for the first time.

“You forgot how to do it, didn’t you?”

Shooting me a glare, he goes to sit on his old bed. “No, I can do it. Just give me a minute. ”

I want to groan, but instead, I just let my head fall back as I turn to face his half-empty closet.

“I thought you said you had already cleaned this place out,” I say, as I reach for another box on the top shelf, this one full of every trophy he’s ever gotten—even the participation ones from the looks of it.

His eyes stay fixed on the Transformer in his hand that now somewhat resembles part of a Camaro. “I said I took my Legos.” Shooting me a quick glance, he kicks up a half smile. “Priorities.”

I huff a laugh as I set the box down on his old computer desk. “Right.” Tilting the box toward him, I ask, “Hey, do you want any of these?” Simon never excelled much in sports. We both tried just about everything, but nothing stuck. Not until I found art and he learned how to ride a motorcycle.

“Maybe?” he says, barely looking at the box.

I shake my head. “I don’t know how you expect me to help you when you want to keep everything.”

This makes him take a break from configuring the toy. “I don’t want to keep everything. I just haven’t seen this stuff in a while. I want to go through it.”

I think of my own room sitting at my mom’s house not too far from here. It’s probably been almost the same amount of time since I’ve looked through that closet. After my dad passed, I didn’t even want to go into my old room. I think I was afraid of what I’d find, and part of me still is.

“Hey, why don’t you see if Lucy needs any help while I sort through some of this. I don’t even think she can reach some of the stuff in her closet.” Simon finally sets down a disheveled yellow Camaro that’s missing a door.

I scratch the side of my head. “Uh, sure. I can do that.” Lucy and I haven’t spoken much since last night.

This morning, we only saw each other in passing, and then Simon drove her here in his car, and I followed on my bike.

It’s been natural, but there’s a subtle underlying avoidance.

Alcohol or not, she put herself out there last night, twice.

And both times, I was the one who shut it down.

I had to. She’s only here temporarily, she’s going through a lot emotionally, and bottom line is that she’s Simon’s little sister.

That’s not all I am.

Hearing her say that last night almost broke me.

It made me want to kiss her, because I know she’s more than that.

She’s funny, smart, and gorgeous without having to try.

I could listen to her talk about almost anything and be impressed with the way her mind works, and she makes me feel more seen than I have in a long time.

Even though she hasn’t been through the same thing, she gets it, and just that makes being around her feel like a breath of fresh air.

Simon looks up from the tiny trophy in his hand with a kid playing soccer made of gold-painted plastic. “Why are you still standing here?”

I blink, and the main reason I can’t let myself feel any of those things with Lucy comes back into focus. “Right. Sorry. I’ll go see if she needs help.”

Simon gives me a funny look, but I ignore it and head down the hall to the room with purple walls. My heart pounds in my chest with every step, and I don’t know why I’m nervous. I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager with a crush.

Leslie and Steve’s voices float from somewhere downstairs.

I think Leslie said something about making her famous mac and cheese for lunch.

Lucy did seem to handle seeing them better today.

At least she looked less on-edge when we got to the house.

She’s been short with them, though. Guarded.

They need to talk about everything, but I doubt that will happen while I’m here.

I’ll probably leave early to give them the chance.

As I approach the doorframe, I say, “Hey, Simon wanted me to see if you needed any help.”

“Shit!” she says as a box nearly falls on her from the top closet shelf. The computer chair she’s standing on spins, and she loses her balance .

Rushing forward, I steady her with both hands and block the chair from spinning with my knee. “What the hell are you doing?”

Gripping the large box tightly with both hands, she looks down at me like her life just flashed before her eyes. “Getting this box.”

“On a damn swivel chair?”

“I was doing fine until you scared me,” she says with narrowed eyes.

Ignoring her, I look up at the box in her arms. “Is that heavy?”

“Yes,” she says a little breathless. “And your hand is on my ass.”

For the first time, I pay attention to where I’m touching her.

Her oversized cardigan hides most of her, but it’s definitely the curve of her ass that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand.

“Shit, sorry,” I mutter as I move my hand up to her lower back.

“Here. Give me the box.” Keeping one hand on her, I gesture for the box with the other.

Moving in slow motion to prevent the chair from swinging out from under her, she steadily places the large cardboard box in my hand, and I curse under my breath as I balance it on my shoulder. “What the hell do you have in here?”

“I have an idea, but I’m not sure.” She turns carefully, one hand clinging to the chairback and the other on my shoulder as she steps down.

As soon as I know she’s on solid ground, I grip the box with both hands and set it on her bed.

Lucy rushes over, practically bumping me out of her way with her hip in the process. “I think these might be . . .” She opens the flaps of the box to reveal what’s inside. “Yes!”

My eyes widen. “That’s a lot of books.”

Looking up at me, she shakes her head. “Not really. I only held onto my favorites.”

Sifting through a few of the titles, I arch an eyebrow. “Everything in here is written by John Green.”

“Not everything,” she answers defensively as she snatches the book from my hands. Digging deeper into the box, she pulls out a different book from the bottom. “I also have the entire Divergent series, and I think all the Hunger Games books are in here, too.”

I nod slowly as I take in her collection. “So, dystopian violence, dystopian violence, and . . . John Green?”

She grins. “It felt like the perfect balance at the time.”

Sifting through more of the books, I glance at her. “There are multiples of the same books in here.”

“No, no, no, no. Those are special editions. It’s completely different.”

I shake my head but don’t bother hiding my amusement. There’s so much I didn’t know about her back then, even though she was right here the whole time. I guess I just never took the time to look. Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t be Simon’s little sister before anything else, maybe she’d just be Lucy.

I swallow at the thought.

“Oh, come on.” She nudges me, and I blink, refocusing. “Haven’t you ever let yourself be nerdy about something?”

My eyebrows furrow, and I pull back to look at her. “I’m nerdy about lots of things.”

She steps back to get a better look at me, and under normal circumstances, I’d probably feel weird being blatantly analyzed, but all I can focus on is how pretty she is.

From the way her tank scoops low under her open cardigan to reveal the soft curve of her breasts to the way her black leggings hug her hips.

I think I could look at her all day and never get bored.

“No,” she says simply, concluding her assessment. “I’m not seeing it.”

Laughter rumbles in my chest. “Maybe you’re not looking hard enough.”

She frowns as she gives me a second look and bites her thumbnail. “You’re a tall guy who works out, is covered in tattoos, and rides a motorcycle. Oh, and your supposed ‘favorite tattoo’ is probably the scariest of them all. ”

I glance down at the spider on my hand, my bemused smile growing. “You think I work out?”

She waves away my question. “See?” she says like she’s won the argument. “Nothing screams nerd. I, on the other hand, already dress like a grandma who works at the library. No one would be surprised to find the boxes of books I’m hoarding.”

I chuckle. “You don’t dress like a grandma.”

She keeps digging through the books. “Picture some glasses on the bridge of my nose, you’ll see it.”

I grin at her response. “Look,” I say, holding out my hand to show her the spider. “This isn’t scary. This is where Peter Parker was bit.”

She looks down at the tattoo and then up at me. “I thought he was bitten on the back of the neck.”

“What?” I shake my head. “No. He was bit on the hand. That’s what’s in the comics, and that’s what’s in the original movies.”

She holds her sideways glance. “The ones with Tobey Maguire?”

I balk at her. “Yes, the ones with Tobey Maguire. Those are the best ones.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah . . . I haven’t seen those.”

My brain feels like it’s short circuiting. “You’ve never—what? How? ”

She smiles at my reaction and shrugs. “I don’t know. I mostly watched the Andrew Garfield ones because I thought he was hot.”

I let out a groan, burying my face in my hands as I take a seat on her bed. “Spider-Man isn’t supposed to be hot. He’s supposed to be a nerd.”

She laughs. “Well, based on this interaction, I’d say you’re a hot nerd.”

I peek at her through my fingers. “Don’t do that.” I could tell her this isn’t even the nerdiest tattoo I have, but I’m too stuck on the fact that she’s never seen Spider-Man .

Her smile only widens as I drag my fingers down my face. I’m about to tell her I’ll watch the damn movies with her to right this injustice, but my phone rings in my pocket. Shifting my weight on the bed, I look down to see a call coming in.