"Just Greg to go," Sandy says.
"Greg will win," Damien says. My gentle giant of a friend smiles down at where Sandy's nestled against me, keeping warm. There's no jealousy there. He's just happy when we're happy.
"Why?"
"Because he wants to impress you," Damien says.
"And Tyler didn't?" Sandy asks. It's a valid question.
"Tyler needs you to stick around more than he needs to impress you."
I feel Sandy nod just slightly in response. I'm not sure of Damien's logic or what it means about the current connection between her and my two friends.
The race is nail-biting. For a second, Greg's opponent veers to the side, almost clipping the tail of Greg's car. Whether it was purposeful, or the result of a pothole is hard to tell from the angle we're at, but the way Sandy flinches tells me a lot.
When Greg wins, I hear my brothers cheering and the sounding of the horn we have as a code for a win. The Deep Six live to face another race.
Damien and I don't hang around when the racing is done. Sandy's hands are icy, and we don't want to risk getting picked up when the cops eventually make it. On the ride home, she's quiet, staring out the window, even though it's hard to make much out in the darkness.
Back at the house, she stands awkwardly in the kitchen as Damien tosses the keys into the bowl by the front door. She's holding back from saying something, that much is evident, but I don't feel like it's my place to pry. Maybe whatever she has to say is for someone else.
But then Sandy turns, facing both of us. "Before the others get back, I want to talk to you about something."
"Sure," I say.
Damien is staring at the floor but nods too. The guy can never stand to look into the eyes of a beautiful woman. They're like his kryptonite.
Sandy focuses on me. "You know what Tyler wants," she says.
Fuck. So she's really going there. "Yes."
"And what do you think about it?" She clasps her hands together in front of her, twisting her fingers as though she's nervous.
"Are you asking what we think about the idea of sharing you?"
She nods, twisting her fingers again, her face too blank for me to read. Damien doesn't say anything, just shifts uncomfortably on his huge feet.
"If you'd asked us about the idea last week, we'd have said you were a fruit loop," I answer.
"And now?" Her voice tips up at the end sweetly.
"Now, I have reservations, but I'm up for trying," I say, wanting to keep things matter of fact.
Sandy nods as though she appreciates my candidness. "And you, Damien?"
My mountain of a friend blushes scarlet above his beard, only managing to look at the bright light that is Sandy for a second before his eyes focus on the window. Headlight beams shine in the driveway as one of the cars pulls in. "I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen," he says eventually, and it's Sandy's turn to blush. I guess that answers her question, but with a lot more romance than I managed.
Maybe I'm going to need to up my game.
"And your brothers?" Sandy asks me.
"I can't speak for them in detail," I say. "But I know they're in agreement to try if you are."
Sandy nods again, her chest rising with a long inhale as though she's letting the information settle inside her before deciding how to respond. "Can I sleep in your bed tonight?" she asks me, and for the first time in forever, I'm lost for words.
"Uh…"
"He means yes," Damien says, grinning at me. It's so funny how he can joke so easily and poke fun at me, but when Sandy asks him about how he feels, he's like a blushing schoolgirl.
"Will Tyler mind?" I ask Sandy, even though I know she has no idea. I guess I feel like I need to at least acknowledge that it's a possibility.
"It's his idea, isn't it?" she says. "Can you take me now?"
"Uh…sure," I say. As I make my way toward the hallway with Sandy trailing closely, I hear Greg and Able stomping inside. We're on the stairs as Damien begins relaying what just happened in a hushed tone that's still audible because of his ridiculously deep voice.
"Thanks for this," Sandy says. As we pass Tyler's room, she ducks inside and grabs her small case. My room is at the end of the hall, opposite Arden's. When I throw open the door, I'm glad to see it's mostly tidy with just a few pairs of jeans and sweaters tossed over my chair and a messy pile of paperwork on my desk. Sandy glances around, taking everything in.
"You like cityscapes?"
The pictures on my wall tell a story of my fascination with architecture and engineering that I would have pursued if I'd had a family who supported education and had the money to help. Instead, I ended up needing work that could pay bills as soon as I was a teen.