My eyebrows shoot up, and I glance at him sharply. “You better not be about to call her a MILF. Osterhaut can expel me for it if he wants, but I’ll kick your ass.”
His eyes widen. He makes a choked noise and then belts out a laugh, still half-coughing. “What? Jesus, no. I wasn’t gonna call her a MILF. That would be extremely fucking
disturbing, considering I’ve sort of got a thing for her daughter.”
The copper-haired boy shakes his head, still chuckling, as I blink at him. He doesn’t seem to realize what he just said, or maybe he thinks it’s no big deal—or maybe he thinks I already know.
But although my entire body reacted to his statement, my nerves singing like live wires, my heart pounding out an uneven rhythm, he and Dax both seem perfectly relaxed.
His blue eyes dance with amusement as he rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “It was just the thing you said about being best friends with her. I can see that. I thought maybe it was because she was young for being a mom.”
“Oh.” I shake my head, dragging my attention back to the conversation with extreme effort. “Yeah, she is. I think that is part of it. My dad left a little while after I was born, so it’s always been just the two of us. And I went through che—I mean, we went through some tough times when I was little. She did so much for me. We’ve always been each other’s… everything.”
I glance up, wondering if either of the boys caught my stutter before I corrected myself. None of the kings of Linwood know about my leukemia, not even Linc. I don’t quite know why I haven’t mentioned it yet, only that it’s something I usually keep private, that I don’t broadcast to strangers.
But as Lincoln pointed out, we’re not fucking strangers anymore.
Now it’s more that I just don’t know how to talk about it, when to mention it, or what to say that doesn’t make me sound like I’m asking for pity.
“That’s cool.” Dax nods, looking genuinely impressed. Maybe even a little envious. “That you have that. That you’re so close.”
My brows pull together. The chill in the air is seeping through my coat into my bones, and I know it’s because I’m a sissy about cold after living in Arizona my whole life, but I’m shivering. I don’t want to go inside yet though. I don’t want to leave this little bubble Dax and Chase and I have created.
“You guys aren’t close with your parents?”
I’ve met their folks at Mr. and Mrs. Black’s cocktail parties—if taking their coats and ushering them into the ballroom can be called “meeting”. I didn’t really get a great read on their personalities though, except that they seem sophisticated and a little uptight.
Chase laughs again, the sound filling the cramped, intimate space beneath the bleachers.
“Close with them? Fuck, no. I’m pretty sure they only had kids because it was what all their friends were doing. They just didn’t wanna fall behind, you know?”
“And instead of one kid they didn’t really want, they ended up with two. A minute and ten seconds after I was born, this ugly fucker popped out.”
Dax nudges Chase with his shoulder, and both twins grin.
I have a feeling calling each other “ugly” has been a joke between them since the moment they realized they look almost identical.
“Huh. That kinda sucks,” I murmur, trying to imagine what my life would’ve been like if my mom didn’t want me. I can’t even picture it, honestly. She’s given up so much of herself to take care of me, done more for me than I can ever repay, and she’s never once made me feel like she resents me for it.
“Yeah.” Chase shrugs, not seeming all that broken up about it. He’s probably used to it by now. “But hell, that’s why I’m glad I got a twin. At least I’ve always had somebody.”
He says that casually too, the same way he threw out the fact that he has a thing for me, but I know there’s a lot behind his words.
They may not have had parents who were loving or invested in them, but they’ve always had each other.
I purse my lips, shifting my gaze between them. “Are you guys one of those sets of twins that has like their own language or whatever?”
They share a look, grinning, and I realize they probably don’t need their own language—not a spoken one, anyway. They seem to communicate entire sentences through a single glance.
“Nah.” Dax shakes his head, turning back to me. “What are we, nerds?”
“But we did get matching tattoos last year,” Chase adds.
My mouth drops open with gleeful surprise. “Oh my God, you are nerds!”
Dax arches a brow. “We are extremely cool. And tattoos are badass.”
“Not inherently,” I shoot back, still grinning widely. “Depends what they are. Maybe you got matching tattoos of Disney princesses.”