She grabbed the shirt before turning and hoofing it out of Ken’s room and back into the bathroom. Slowly, she opened the door leading to Tommy’s room and peeked inside, making sure the area was unoccupied. She rushed to his dresser and then opened the top drawer before grabbing one of his white, ribbed T-back undershirts. She quickly pulled the garment over her head before gathering the excess fabric from behind and tying a knot. She put the other shirt on over top of her improvised cami. Much better!
As she exited Tommy’s room, he flashing her a million-dollar smile. “Aren’t you adorable?”
“I try.” She shrugged and snickered as she cut her gaze away from him coyly. Meanwhile, Ken sat on the couch, scarfing down a taco.
Tommy looked over his shoulder toward Trisha’s line of sight and turned back with a sheepish expression. “We didn’t save you any.”
Trisha rolled her eyes and grinned. “I didn’t expect you would. We chillin’ on the couch?” She headed toward the sofa, already knowing the answer. Ken patted the cushion next to where he sat. He balled up a taco wrapper in one hand while wiping his mouth with a napkin he held in the other. After plopping down next to him, she gathered up all the trash they’d strewn across the coffee table before shoving the litter into the empty fast food bag. “How were they?”
Ken didn’t open his mouth but stuck up his thumb to show his approval.
“Glad you liked them.” She reached across the table, leaning way over to collect one last, wayward piece of refuse. Trisha stretched as far as she could but couldn’t reach without lifting off the sofa. Unfortunately, the coffee table had been pulled so close she ended up nearly stepping on Ken’s toes. Frantically, she attempted to adjust her footing but only managed to trip, landing herself face down across Ken’s lap.
The heat of embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she squirmed, doing her best to right her body without looking at Ken’s face. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he kept her in place, nonverbally announcing his differing ideas.
“You all right?” His question had been preceded and punctuated by bouts of laughter.
“No!” Trisha wriggled. “But I would be if you would let me up!”
Placing an arm over her thighs to keep her from kicking, Ken snickered. “Not going to happen—it’s punishment for your clumsiness.”
She sighed. Ken wasn’t wrong—she was a walking calamity. As backward as it seemed, she could focus hard enough to be a good cheerleader and a decent dancer, but when moving naturally without any thought, she tripped over her own feet, walked into furniture, slipped down carpeted steps, and made a huge jackass out of herself on more occasions than she cared to admit. Being sprawled out over Ken’s lap with her rear in the air was probably one of her more humiliating faux pas. Since she’d had to roll the waistband of Ken’s soccer shorts up quite a bit to make them stay in place, and because she wasn’t wearing any underwear, the curvature where her thighs met her sizable ass was undoubtedly shining. Her cheeks burned, but the warmth from Ken’s body against hers wasn’t bad at all. Everywhere his fingers landed tingled with heated energy. God, I love it! Touch me more!
One of Trisha’s palms rested flat on the apartment’s unfortunate-colored carpet while her other hand grasped at the couch’s arm in an effort to prevent falling right on her face. Lifting her head, she looked up as much as she could in her precarious position. The only object of note at that level was the phone jack and the unplugged phone cord running along the edge of the wall. “Ken, your telephone...”
“I know,” He interrupted her while carefully scooping her up and settling her back on the couch. Trisha furrowed her brow and frowned at him as she adjusted the shorts cutting a wedgie up her butt. Once she had her clothes situated, she punched Ken in the arm as hard as she could for manhandling her.
“Ouch!” He held his arm. “If I’d known you were going to hit me so hard, I would have blocked you.”
“No fair using your karate skills against me, Mr. Expert.” She spoke in her brattiest voice. Ken rolled his eyes in an attempt to minimize his achievement of being such a high ranked competitor and not just in his home state. He was a regional champion and at one time had ranked number fifty-nine in his division for the entire country.
“Not my fault my mother chose to force me to engage in a competitive sport in a ridiculous, misguided, and stereotypical attempt to connect me with my father’s culture.”
“Say what?” Trisha glanced at him, turning her head sideways.
“There weren’t a whole lot of Japanese people in our little town. My mom found me a role model the only way she could.”
“That’s actually kind of smart,” Trisha nodded to herself. She had to give Ms. Davidson props for being creative.
“I suppose.” Ken shrugged without showing any emotion.
“Seriously though, what’s up with the phone?” Trisha turned to face him, bending one leg and slipping the limb under the other.
Ken sighed lightly. “Mom kept calling me every twenty minutes for a weather update. It was getting on my nerves.”
Trisha gasped, shocked by Ken’s matter-of-fact attitude. Folding her arms across her chest, she shook her head. “I know you hate talking on the phone, but come on! Kenny, she’s worried. You’re all she has.”
He knotted his eyebrows as he scoffed, but she stared him down. Looking away, he sighed again. “Don’t remind me.”
“Ken!” Trisha’s mouth hung open.
“You don’t even speak to your mom.” He didn’t even look at her as he called her out on her hypocrisy. She sucked
