Page 57 of Uncovered


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I shake my head. “That whole concerned-older-brother look. It’s not disapproval, exactly, just caution. I used to get it from Dylan. And then Sam. And now I’m seeing it on your face. I promise. I’m twenty years old and though I may seem a mess at times, I can take care of myself.”

He reaches across the counter and takes my hand in his. “No one’s doubting you, Phoebe. And I’m sorry if it came off that way. It’s just that, like I said before, those four are…”

“What?” I ask, truly curious. “They’re good guys, I swear. Whit made me pancakes, and Booker talked to me about art. They seemed normal. What’s the big deal?”

Mel sighs and looks at Ian. “It’s too late. They’ve got you hooked,” she says, shaking her head, but I see the trace of a smile on her lips.

“Honestly, I can’t blame you,” Ian says as he makes another drink. “I’d have no qualms about accepting a sleepover invite at The Chapel.”

“So you guys are cool with this? Like, when I go over there for dinner tomorrow, you aren't going to ambush me for an intervention when I get home?” I can tell their curiosity is piqued, but they’re good friends and keep their opinions to themselves.

“Nah,” Mel says. “You won’t be home until Monday morning, I’ll bet. And we’ll both be in class.”

Ian laughs, and so do I. What can I say? She’s not wrong.

Chapter 12

Phoebe

I’m not quite sure what to expect at Sunday dinner. I mean, the last time Whit cooked for me, he was half-naked, so I feel like I need to be prepared for any eventuality. I stand at the ornate doorway, brownies in hand. Mel and I had to go to Ian’s apartment to make them, but they smell delicious, so it was worth the effort.

Booker answers the door, smiling. He takes the tray from me, saying, “No way. Are these brownies?” I nod. “I said it before, but I’ll say it again. We’re keeping you.”

“Who are we keeping?” Whit calls from the kitchen.

“Phoebe. She made us brownies. And she said they’re actually an appetizer, so we have to eat them right now.”

Out of nowhere, Whit rounds the corner and takes the tray from Booker’s hands. “You gotta watch this one, Phoebe. Sure, he looks all innocent, but it’s always the quiet ones, amirite?”

Booker just laughs when Whit glares at him and says, “What would Jesus say about these lies, Booker Elliott Zabek?”

“There are some things we don’t tell Jesus,” Booker replies. “Or, you know, my parents…”

I feel like there’s a subtext I’m missing, but Ty walks down the stairs and absorbs all of my attention. He’s casual, in jeans and a long-sleeved Henley, his hair still damp from his shower. But he’s breathtaking. His dark wavy hair hangs low on his forehead, his blue eyes, framed with full, dark lashes, penetrate my gaze. I’m suddenly self-conscious in the skater dress I chose. It’s the only dress I brought to school and I wore it to my interview. It’s sort of an all-purpose black cotton dress that I wear when I need to look presentable. I drew the line at makeup, but I allowed Melanie to curl my hair, and I may have swiped on some lip gloss before getting out of my car. Ugh. Should I have worn shoes with heels? Or at least ones without rubber soles and laces? Just when I’m questioning all my life choices, Ty wraps me in his arms, and bends for a kiss that isn’t quite chaste. His lips linger over mine, and I should probably be embarrassed. There are other people here. But Ty’s mouth feels good on mine, so I return the kiss.

“You look beautiful,” he tells me. “But you always do.”

“Yea, paint splatters certainly have their place in fashion’s upper echelon, but I decided to buck my routine and wear an outfit without any stains.” I twirl to show off the flowy skirt. “At least, I’m pretty sure there are no stains…” I say, trying to look behind me for any errant glitter or marks.

Ty smiles. “Not a one. And even if there were, no one here would notice or care. These are my friends, Phoebe. My brothers, really. They’re the only real family I have, and they’re going to love you. Hell, they’re halfway there already. Did I hear Booker say you brought brownies? You get, like, 10,000 points for that alone.”

“Do you have any real ones?” I ask in my usual non-sequitur way.

“Any brownies? Yea. You just brought some.”

“No, any brothers. I mean, I know you’re really close with these guys, but what about your family? You know, like, the biological ones.”

A shadow crosses his face and for a moment, I think I’ve accidentally stepped in it. God, maybe they died? I, of all people, should know how downright triggering a question like that can be. “Oh, my gosh. No. Do not answer that. It’s none of my business--”

The light makes its way back into his eyes, and there’s a trace of a smile on his lips. “Phoebe, it’s fine. We’re together, so it’s a fair question to ask. I do have a brother, a half brother. And a mom. She’s married, but her husband and I don’t really talk at all. It’s just...I’m not close with any of them. I actually grew up down in Florida with my dad and my grandparents. They passed when I was a kid, and my dad died when I was thirteen, so I moved to D.C. to live with my mom and her family. Let’s just say we see eye-to-eye on almost nothing. So, I met these fools the summer I moved to D.C., and yea. They’re my found family.”

“I get that. My mom and I used to be super close, but after Dylan died, well…her recovery has been hard. Really hard. Some days, I was the parent. That’s part of the reason I’m here, actually.”

“Yea?” he asks, taking my hand and walking us into the living room. He sits in the corner of the biggest sofa and pulls me down on his lap. “I’m very glad you are,” he tells me.

“I almost didn’t make it this far. I got in a rut, I guess you’d say. But at the time, it was just my life’s routine, you know? I initially deferred college to help my mom deal with everything. She was really fragile that first year. Sam and I were constantly afraid she’d hurt herself. So, I stuck around and took a few online classes. Anyway, one year became two and, I don’t know, I just never left, if that makes sense. Anyway, one day, I got a letter from this scholarship foundation. I guess someone on the board saw some of my work at a show and offered me a full ride here. It was almost too good to be true. Anyway, I threw the letter out.”

He looks at me like I’m crazy. “You threw out your scholarship offer?”