Pretty Little Thing (Central Valley U)

Stella slips back into the copse of trees, and I’m half-tempted to sneak away and join her—to give Frankie and Maverick some privacy—except my feet are rooted in place. Don’t ask me why, but for reasons unknown, I can’t seem to walk away from these two.

Physically or metaphorically.

“Okay.” Maverick nods a few times, like he’s hyping himself up. “Did my dad like superheroes, too?”

It’s nearly dark out, but there’s just enough light left for me to make out the tears filling Frankie’s eyes. “Batman was his favorite.”

Maverick rears back, his brows nearly to his hairline and his jaw totally slack. “But Uncle Phin says Batman’s a…a…vigilante!” Despite barely being able to say the word, he spits it out like it’s a dirty word.

I know I shouldn’t, but I have to interject. “Whoa, bud. Whoa.”

They both whip around to face me, matching looks of surprise painting their features—almost like they forgot I was out here with them.

“It’s true!” Maverick insists, jumping to his feet. “A’cause he doesn’t have any powers.”

“But he is a member of the Justice League. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“I don’t know.” He mulls over it, tapping his index finger against his chin. “I gotta ask Uncle Phin first.”

“Mom called!” Stella hollers, stepping back into the clearing. “Cookies are ready!”

Maverick’s eyes go wider than the moon overhead. “I want a cookie! Mama, please?”

Frankie nods, and he throws both arms into the air, cheering.

“C’mon,” Samson says from behind Stella. “I’ll give you another piggyback.”

Maverick sprints over to where my sister and best friend stand, wasting no time scrambling up onto his back. “Let’s go!”

Frankie watches with a wistful look on her face as the three of them trek toward the house.

“C’mon, little mama.” I take a few steps closer and extend a hand down to her. “Mom’s cookies are really good—especially fresh from the oven.”

She doesn’t hesitate, sliding her small hand into mine. Like every time we touch, a little zip of electricity moves from her skin to mine. It’s fucking weird—and it’s only ever happened with one other person.

Birdie.

Fuck. I haven’t hardly thought about her this past week.

I shake off the thoughts of my Bluebird and focus on the woman at my side, whose hand is still in mine. Our fingers are twined together, like two middle schoolers, and yet… I don’t hate it.

Not by a long shot.

We make the walk back to the house in near silence, save for the rustling of the wind and the chirping of crickets. It’s a comfortable kind of quiet.

Instead of going back through the front door, I lead Frankie around back. It’s closer, and the door everyone will expect us to use.

But before I can guide us up the porch steps, Frankie tugs on my hand. “You okay?” I ask, turning to face her.

She lowers her gaze and nibbles her lip. She’s nervous. Why?

“Frankie.” I release her hand and slide my fingers beneath her chin, drawing her pretty blue eyes back up to mine.

“Sorry. Yeah, I just…” She pinches her eyes closed and then blinks up at me with such a sad expression my heart fucking stutters in my chest. “I just wanted to apologize—again—for my behavior.”

“I already told you that’s not necessary.” I stroke my thumb over the soft skin of her cheek, and ever so subtly, she leans into my touch.

“I also wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being so understanding.” She smiles softly. “Sweet. For being you, I guess.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that.” I don’t realize I’ve moved closer until my toes bump hers. But I’m fully in control as I splay my fingers from her jaw to her temple and lay my lips against hers in the softest kiss ever.

It’s brief, over before it really begins, but damn if I don’t feel it all the way to my toes.

“Orion.” She whispers my name, sounding every bit as rattled as I feel.

I force my lips into a carefree grin and climb the steps two at a time. She watches me with wide eyes as I open the door. “Better hurry—cookies are getting cold.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FRANKIE

After a night of shitty sleep, I’m up long before the sun. Which really sucks, because Maverick has finally started sleeping past six.

I don’t know if it’s because he’s growing or if he subconsciously feels safer here; all I know is it’s been nice waking up at a normal hour.

Thoughts of Orion plagued me most of the night—dreams of us in the VIP room mingled with actual memories, which morphed into nightmares of him realizing that Birdie and me are one and the same and flipping out.

And worse than all of that is, I swear I can still feel the tingle he caused when he kissed me last night on his parents’ back porch.

What was he thinking?

I almost marched in and demanded an explanation, but after shoving three cookies down, he made an excuse and bailed, and I haven’t seen him since.