Free Quarterback Bait by Celia Loren Page A

lurch around my room. I'd inherited a decorating gene from Carson.
No matter how often Anya and I skipped town, making a space my own was always a
first instinct. As his eyes peered around my room, I tried to see my little
cubby space from Landon's POV. The long, glittery tapestries procured from
Austin street fairs. An original sketch of Tex's, affixed to the far wall with
multi-colored pushpins. A gumbo of band posters for Led Zeppelin, Miles Davis,
The Strokes and Metric. A tall vintage lamp, draped with scarves. Did all of my
objects immediately betray the fact that I was a kid, and still “kind of an
idiot”? In one way, this was my greatest fear. That people—even stupid jerk
people, like my future step-brother—wouldn't take me seriously, for whatever
reason.
    Landon looked like he was about to say something, but at
that moment some ambiguous groan moved through the wall. I watched him hear it,
and frown. If things had been different, we might have made eye contact and
grimaced together. That was the kind of thing siblings did, wasn't it? Laugh at
the dumb (and disgusting) shit their parents did?
    But we would never have that kind of relationship. I shifted
my gaze to the braided rug on the floor, and pursed my lips. Landy took the
cue, and pulled himself from the threshold of my door. I popped my earbuds back
in, but snuck a peek at his lumbering frame as he moseyed off down the hallway.
A few paces away, he returned and ran back.
    “What?” I cried, pulling my earbuds out again. I half-hoped
my voice was loud enough to let Pastor Sterling and Anya know that I was having
none of their coitus. Landon just pulled a face at me, before snapping out the
light and shutting the door. Which I guess was nice. Whatever.
    When I blinked, I saw light again. You know how that happens
sometimes? And for a long time after, though I stared at the ceiling and tried
to pour my shifting feelings into the vessel of London Calling , I saw
his torso in my doorway. His chiseled body, with its elegant, smooth-looking
planes of tan and white.

 
    Chapter Ten

    Landon
    July 28 th
     
    Zora's hand reminded me of a hawk's talon, the way it
clamped around my wrist. She was plowing toward the Hyatt like a steamship. She
had no looks to spare me, so I tried to make eye contact with our chauffeur.
But the poor guy—pretty righteously—didn't seem interested in exchanging a
fraternal face with the dude whose girlfriend had been yelling at him for the
past twenty minutes, as if he alone were responsible for Austin's gridlocked
Friday night traffic.
    “Smile for the cameras,” I heard my girlfriend murmur at me,
from over her left shoulder. “And with your teeth .” As if taking her
cue, bright lights started to wink at us from both sides.
    “Did I miss something? Is your sister a celebrity?” The
circle around my wrist tightened. I felt uncomfortable enough in the rented tux
(cummerbund added at Z's “suggestion”), and this red carpet shit was just too
much. I swallowed. Something about all those bright lights was making me
thirsty, too.
    “It's part of the theme. ” Zora whispered back,
smiling madly all the while. “ You're the one who said it was a lame
tradition. This is me, trying to spice things up.”
    There was nothing I could say to that, so I tried to keep my
eyes fixed on Z's tanned shoulder-blades as she maneuvered us toward the hotel
entrance. She is very graceful, I’ll give her that. With seemingly no effort,
she'd steered us to the front of a long line of other women in ball gowns,
trailed by other bewildered-looking dudes in suits.
    Only once we were inside the hotel lobby did Z release her
skeleton grip. She looked me up and down, as she had several times that day
already—eyes withering, hunting for a flaw. She looked fantastic in a
peach-colored dress that complimented her honey skin. It was a light, gauzy
fabric that drifted through the air behind her as she walked. And her dark hair
was piled high on her