LHM

I did exactly what they suggested, my nervous stomach and light head pushing me back through the crowd toward the car. The place was packed—a million boys in skate gear, a few girls in the same. Parents, grandparents, younger siblings, and so many fucking dogs. I got nipped at by an ugly poodle and jostled by the crowds. I bought myself a corn dog and the biggest bottle of water I could find before plopping my ass in the back seat.

It was shady here, unlike the hot hell of that crowded skatepark. Quiet, the din of the crowd now a hum, birds and breeze and leaves rustling overhead. I sprawled down flat on the back seat, Edward's sweatshirt as a pillow and my feet propped up in the open window. I got to eat my corn dog in peace without having to share it, which was a rare luxury these days. I drank too much water too fast, stomach going sideways again, and I had to sit upright, clutching the seat.

Wondering if I was going to throw up in the back seat of Edward's car.

Wondering if Jacy would be ok.

Wondering how too much cold water too fast could feel just like a full body resurrection from the grave but simultaneously feel like certain, unforgivable death.

Wondering how Edward found me sexy enough to fondle my ass. In public. In front of Jacy. I'd been a stress eating like a champ lately and could barely get my shorts buttoned this morning. Work, teenage girl, high school homework, and my mortgage payment stressing me right out of my clothing. He didn't seem to mind.

I rested my forehead on the front seat and listened to them announce her. Jacy Black, the fourteen-year-old out of Sacramento, the secret Edward Cullen had been keeping for a year, now bombing the half-pipe like a little pink rocket. I could see her behind my eyelids: the flash of her wrist guards, hair blown back, the certain bend in her knees when she leaned.

The way her back curved and her feet shifted against the board.

I knew her routine. By heart. Lived it, loved it, suffered through three hours of practice in the hotel room last night. Jacy clambered up and down and over and sideways as they planned her line of tricks, the ones that would launch her above all those "dumb boys." Leaping over me and the beds, flipping and spinning and dancing across the floor, eyes closed as she imagined her board there beneath her.

Edward calling out her cues.

I found myself shifting along with her in my mind—my shoulders, hips, hands, neck. Flying through the air with her as though I could will her body to sling true, fly straight.

Land solid.

Heaven help me if that girl got hurt.

She was so good. For a long time I was certain it was just Edward trying to get into my pants, all of the endless complimenting of her talents. Six months in—just about the time he started sleeping overnight—I came to the stunning realization she really was that good. Edward really was trying to get into my pants, but he also really was complimenting her just because he felt like it.

Because it was true.

She won a competition. Won another one. Started "working" at the skate shop whenever Edward was there, the honorary little sister of the crew of guys Edward skated with. Won two more competitions. We drove to LA, flew to DC, the three of us like an undercover family. Edward had steered clear of her at first, not wanting to taint her success, or rose tint the crowd, or unfairly entice the brand scouts.

"It's hers, not mine. I want her to take it by right, not by association." "She's going to make their jaws hit the floor." "I can't wait to watch her go pro, Babe."

Now, here we were in Reno, and Edward had told me that a rep from Plan B called him last week, not so subtly trying to gauge if Jacy was planning to be here.

"That's a gold!" The announcer's voice boomed one second before the crowd erupted, and my phone started vibrating against the floorboards. I fumbled for it, already tearing up, stomach heaving again.

"Did you hear that?" Edward screamed in my ear, breathing heavily as though he was running hard. "Did you hear her? Holy shit, Babe, she was fucking awesome!"

I heard a loud thump, a sharp clatter, and a muffled squealing. I listened to them scream, probably wrapped up in each other, Edward swinging her around, the phone forgotten at his feet. I put my fingers to my lips, emotion and nausea bubbling in my throat.

Wondering what Edward would say when he found out I threw up in his car.

Wondering how long I'd have to wait before they came to find me.

Wondering how that girl and I had gotten so fucking lucky.

AN:

I owe three cheers and my first-born to Hadley Hemingway.

Actually, she'd probably just give him back to me - terror toddler currently has pink eye.

Kids are gross.

xo

HBM