Unthinkable (Unstoppable 2)

them in place. “Or something.”

Reaching behind me, I grabbed his bag and launched it at his grinning face. He caught it with a light smirk and slid the door shut. I sped off without looking back at him.

Half an hour later, as I scrubbed a nail polish remover pad over my fingernails, my phone pinged with a notification, and a picture of a wide-eyed kitten with the caption, Don’t Kill Me stared up at me.

For the second time in one weird ass night, Leon Bradshaw almost coaxed a smile out of me. His next message reminded me why that had never happened before.

Leon: Just saw Wiley Riley sprinting across the park from Ren’s place. Guess you’re not the only one stuffing pussies tonight…

He followed the message up with ten winking face emojis, an eggplant and a cat.

Nice. I shook my head.

FOUR

LISS

“What’s this?” I asked, plucking the small, square sticky note off the wall by the washing machine and holding it aloft.

My mom shifted closer and peered over my shoulder at the note. “Washing machine instructions.”

I gave her a blank look. “Yeah, I see that. Are they for my benefit?”

She nodded before ambling back through the door into the kitchen, the fabric of her long navy skirt swishing around her ankles. My forehead puckered as I watched her pause in the middle of the room and press two fingers to her head, her lips moving as if she was talking to herself.

“Why didn’t you just ask me to do the laundry? Do we communicate via riddles on post-it notes these days?”

I did laundry. Sometimes. Probably not enough.

She turned back to me with a hand flattened over her chest and her blue eyes downcast. “It wouldn’t hurt you to help more around the house, Alissa.”

My brow furrowed as I tacked the note back on the wall, feeling suitably chastised. She seemed extra stressed lately, and I felt like an asshole for not making her life easier where I could. Housework wasn’t exactly my strong suit, but I made a mental note to do a few loads of laundry during the weekend.

I opened my mouth to ask what else she needed from me when my ten-year-old sister meandered into the room with a green sweater slung artlessly over one shoulder, and her face glued to the tablet in her hand.

“Bella, stop walking around with that thing pressed to your nose.”

“Huh?” Bella mumbled without looking up.

My mom stalked over and snatched the tablet out of her grasp, snapping Bella’s head up and pulling a cry of outrage from her gaping lips.

“Mom, I was in the middle of something. That’s not fair!”

Slotting the device between the bread bin and the fridge, my mom replied, “Too bad.”

Bella harrumphed, slamming her butt down on the stool by the counter and snatching up a piece of toast that looked to be at least a couple of shades too dark. Her ice-blue eyes burned a hole into my mother’s back as she mumbled, “Who are you, the fun police?”

“The who?” I asked, cocking my head.

Bella swung her gaze my way and shrugged her narrow shoulders, reaching to grasp the arm of the sweater before it fell to the floor. “Fun police,” she repeated, taking a bite of the burnt toast, and chewing with her mouth open. Her nose wrinkled in distaste.

“Close your mouth when you eat,” I said, then, “and who the hell are the fun police?”

Granting me an unmistakable duh look, she swiped her blonde bangs out of her eyes. “People who think it’s against the law to have fun.” Her eyes skittered back to Mom, and I pressed my lips together to hold in a laugh.

“Mom, you hear this kid?” Standing with her back to me, she didn’t respond. “Mom?”

When she spun round, facing me with a blank expression, I tipped my head toward Bella. “I said, did you hear this kid?”