She might not have decided if she liked me, but she let me skim my fingers over her abdomen in broad daylight. Her breath caught when I broached her waistband, which was loose enough to see her little black panties underneath. I traced the ridge of her hip bone, dipping my finger into her shorts, then back out. When I dipped in again, she caught my hand, and my eyes flicked to hers. They were wide, and maybe a little worried.
“No.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
She sighed in relief.
“Shit, Helen,” I rasped.
“Show’s starting.”
She sat up, but I stayed, the breath kicked out of me. Then she reached for me, catching my hand and giving it a tug. I sat up behind her, and she leaned back against my chest, her head beneath my chin.
I had my work cut out for me with this girl. We both had some decisions to make. She had to decide if she wanted me. I had to decide if she was worth all the trouble she was going to bring me.
But I knew without thinking.
My pops used to pat my head and say, “If there’s trouble, you’ll find it, then you’ll take it home and keep it.”
Yeah, I knew.