“Want to come inside for a beer?” Tiffany asked.
We weren’t allowed to drink our parents’ alcohol. It should’ve gone without mentioning since Tiffany wouldn’t be twenty-one for two more years, but it had been said, more than once, since Tiffany had stolen from their stash before.
I didn’t know what would be a worse offense in my parents’ eyes—drinking their alcohol or inviting one of the workers into their home. I would be sworn to secrecy afterward. I didn’t like lying to my parents, but sometimes, a teenage girl like my sister could be more menacing than anyone.
“I’m working,” Manning answered.
Tiffany closed one eye against the sun and smiled. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“Lunch break.”
I looked up at him. “But you have no food.”
“I’m on a diet.”
Tiffany laughed. I drew my brows together. Was that a joke? He didn’t seem like the funny type but it was even less likely he’d go on a diet. I forced a chuckle as well.
“Come inside,” Tiffany said. “Lake’ll make you a sandwich. She makes the best ones.”
“Sorry,” he said. His eyes stayed on me. “I don’t think your parents would like it.”
I must’ve stared at him like I was seeing the sun for the first time, but I didn’t know how to help that. I knew he shouldn’t come in. I wanted him to. If he didn’t, either Tiffany would leave and make me go with her or she’d want to be alone with him.
“I’ll make you a sandwich,” I blurted.
Manning looked over my head. “I can’t.”
“Okay, fine.” Tiffany turned to nod at me. “Don’t you have homework or something? Get lost.”
Manning’s dark eyes narrowed on Tiffany. “You talk to your sister that way?”
She brushed hair from her neck, visibly reddening. “She knows I’m joking. Don’t you, sis?”
I nodded. Tiffany wasn’t joking. Her thin smile and rigid back were a silent warning—go away, or else. It wasn’t fair, though. I’d been here first. “I don’t have any more homework. Tomorrow’s my last day.”
“Oh.” Tiffany shifted feet. “I bet Manning would like if you brought him a sandwich then.”
I figured Manning probably would like that. I didn’t want to go, but Tiffany would find a way to get what she wanted, and at least this way, I’d be doing something for Manning, too. “Okay.”
Manning sighed. He looked down at me and then over at Tiffany. “I’ll come in, but I only have twenty minutes.”
Tiffany grinned. “Cool.”
Manning jumped down from the wall. I started to slide off, too, but he caught my waist at the last minute. His hands were so large, they nearly wrapped all the way around me. I got hot and cold all at once, doing everything in my power not to shiver so I wouldn’t give myself away. He set me on the ground gently, like a porcelain statue on a shelf. “It’s not good for your ankles if you don’t know how to jump,” he told me.
“But you did it.”
He smiled a little. “You always argue with someone who’s looking out for you?”
Tiffany pulled on Manning’s elbow. “Come on.”
I followed them across the lot toward the house, the feel of his hands on my waist lingering. They were enormous. And hot. They made me hot—my cheeks, my chest, all the way down, between my legs. This time I did shiver, just replaying it in my head. Thankfully I was behind them, out of sight. Tiffany would think I was ridiculous for getting so excited over being helped off a wall.
Just now, in less than five minutes, she’d gotten more information out of him than I had all afternoon. It was as if they were speaking a language I only sort of understood, like when the Brazilian exchange student in my Spanish class spoke Portuguese to confuse the teacher.
In the entryway, Manning looked around. He seemed even bigger inside. We had vaulted ceilings, but I was sure if he stretched hard enough and jumped high enough, he could touch them. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. I needed something to do with my hands. I needed to stop staring.
Tiffany called us into the living room where she was hunched over the mini-refrigerator behind Dad’s bar. “We have Corona or Budweiser.”
“Should you be drinking when you’re working?” I asked.
Manning had tipped his head back to take in my dad’s impressive selection of liquor, but he dropped just his eyes to mine. “No. I’ll take a Coke if you’ve got it.”
“Go make the sandwich, Lake,” Tiffany said.
“What kind do you want?” I asked him.
He spread his long fingers over his stomach and for the first time, he grinned. “I’ll eat anything you make.”
I couldn’t help responding with my own smile. “All right. I’ll make the Lake Special.”