Page 43 of Blitz

“Good night.”

“Sweet dreams, Princess.”

Chapter eighteen

Tucker

My phone vibrates with a text from a number I never thought I’d see again. Micah Prince. It’s made even worse by the fact that I’m wrapped up in bed with his sister. His very naked, very sexy sister.

My friendship with the Prince twins began in the second grade, about a week after I moved to Elmwood Elementary. My brother and I were waiting for the school bus to take us home. I was already big and tall for my age. Some of the fifth graders were picking on me, saying I was too big and dumb to function, that I must have been held back a few years.

Before Jamal could say anything to defend me like a big brother was supposed to, Micah came flying in out of nowhere and kicked the meanest bully right between the legs. Mason was right behind him like a feral cat, hitting and scratching anyone she could get her hands on. Before we knew what was happening, the situation devolved into a full on brawl. Nine year old Jamal had a fifth grader in a headlock. Micah and Mason gave as good as they got.

And I just stood there, struck dumb, as these two strangers I’d never talked to before attempted to beat down three bigger, stronger, older bullies.

The bus monitor eventually pulled them apart, holding Micah aloft by the collar of his shirt and Mason by her pigtails. (It was a different time back then.) They were both spitting mad, nearly frothing at the mouth like the feral children they were.

When the monitor moved on, herding the bullies down the hall, he brushed off his shirt and held out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Micah,” he said. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “This is my sister, Mason. Yes, we’re twins, and no, we’re not identical.”

I said nothing. Jamal nudged me. I still didn’t talk.

“He’s Tuck,” my big brother said for me. He pushed me forward. I stumbled and fell down.

And then the prettiest girl I’d ever seen was crouching down and offering me her hand. I took it and my whole world fell apart. I was smitten.

All this to say, I’ve known the Princes for close to two-thirds of my life. Micah and I were inseparable. He was the one who convinced me to ask Mason out when we were fourteen. He was our biggest supporter. He didn’t get squeamish when we kissed, or when I couldn’t hang out with him because I was spending time with her, or when our relationship started getting more serious. He covered for us with their parents when we wanted some alone time—naked—at my house. He was my best friend.

And then right before I left for college, she texted me to tell me it was better if we didn’t go to college “with strings holding us back from being who we’re meant to be.” She didn’t answer my calls. Neither did he.

I stopped calling after that first miserable week on campus. I got drunk and went to a frat party and slept with a random girl I met that night. I don’t know her name. I don’t remember anything about her, aside from the fact that she wasn’t Mason. It didn’t feel right. I never should have gone through with it. But I did, and I had to live with the consequences.

I called Micah that night, drunk out of my mind. Confessed all of my sins. He never responded to my two o’clock in the morning voicemail. He never responded to the dozens of texts I sent him over the course of that first semester. Eventually I stopped trying. Our teams never met on the football field. He slipped out of my life in the blink of an eye. When Mason ended things, I lost my two best friends in one fell swoop.

So it’s super shitty that he’s only texting me now that we’re back together. I haven’t told my moms yet. I haven’t told Jamal yet. The only people who know are the people at school.

The text is simple. Hey man, what’s up? I shake my head and drop my phone back onto my nightstand. I’m so not in the mood to deal with him right now. I have a pretty, nearly naked girl in my bed, one condom left, and nothing to do for the next several hours.

Mason makes a cute little snuffling noise. She’s waking up. I run my hand over her arm, gentle, soothing, and she leans back, searching for me. Wrapping my arm securely around her waist, I drop a kiss to her shoulder and tug her back into me.

“Go back to sleep,” she whines, tossing and turning her head on the pillow. “It’s too early.”

“It’s ten.”

Her body goes tense. “It’s ten?!”

“Yes?”

She’s wide awake in the blink of an eye. “Shit. Shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I have a study group for my abnormal psych class at eleven at the library.” She flies into motion, rolling over me and off the bed.

“You have an hour.”

“I need to go home and shower. I smell like sex.”