side. A chill went through me.
He tilted his head and his face moved closer to mine. I froze. Then he sniffed my hair and neck. “What’s that smell?”
For a second I couldn’t answer him. My breath seemed caught in my throat. Then I held up my wrist, between our too-close faces, “It’s a spray from work. A girl, Skye, she sprayed it on me.” My voice came out tight and I let my hand fall back to my side.
Braden lowered his brow. “What’s wrong?” he said. His eyes flickered to my lips, then back to my eyes.
My heart picked up speed. What was going on? I put my arms between our chests, needing a little space. Work was making me weird, I decided. Linda, with all her talk of auras and makeup and fashion, was not good for me. “Nothing.” I looked over his shoulder to the shadowy hall, sure my brothers would’ve heard us by now. We were probably about to get ambushed. “Who’s playing?”
“Everyone.”
“My dad?”
“No. He’s at work.”
I slipped off my shoes so I could be stealthier, hooked my arm in his, and crept along the wall. “We are so winning.”
Braden smiled big. “I knew I made the right choice holdin’ out for you to get home.”
“Darn straight.”
“Let’s kick some butt ,” he said, in his horrible imitation of me.
A low voice from across the hall said, “I could’ve killed you guys three times by now. Stop flirting with my sister and get your head in the game. I’ll give you a ten-second head start.”
His accusation made my heart jump. But this was Gage. He was always joking. Plus, he never stopped flirting. Ever. He probably just assumed the same of everyone else. “Shut up,” I said, then pulled Braden the opposite way down the hall. Ten seconds wasn’t very long.
Chapter 9
T hat night in my room I stared at the girl in the ad some more. Makeup wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t practical with sports—sweat and makeup did not mix well—but I’d worn mascara on occasion. And ChapStick was my best friend. The extra money helping Linda out with this project sounded great to put a dent in what I owed my dad so I could quit this job faster. But there was no way I’d come home with my face caked in the stuff. I’d never hear the end of it. I sighed and shoved the ad in my desk drawer.
I walked in to work Thursday, set the pamphlet on the counter in front of Linda, and said, “It’s not waterproof, right?”
“What?”
“The makeup. I want to be able to wash it off easily when I’m finished.”
“I bet your mom would love to see you all made up.”
This was why it wasn’t good to lie. I’d honestly thought the subject would never come up again. This was way worse than the pity looks she would’ve given me. I shrugged.
She looked back at the ad. “It will come off easily with a good face wash.”
I nodded slowly, still not sure I wanted to do this. “And I won’t have to talk?”
She threw her hands in the air in an excited gesture like she thought I’d made up my mind. “No. Just a canvas. It will be great. She’ll do the first class this Saturday morning.” She pulled a form out from beneath the counter, proving she knew I would agree. “Because you’re underage, I need your mother—well, either of your parents—to sign this consent form. For liability issues. Amber isn’t licensed, which is why she isn’t putting makeup on anyone but you during the class. And also, I’m not worried about it, but if you have some sort of allergic reaction, this says you won’t sue me.”
I nodded and took the form, my eyes scanning over the words but not reading them.
“You should tell your mom to come watch.”
Every time she mentioned my mother, my stomach tightened. I should just tell her the truth and get it over with. Instead the words “My mom has to work Saturday so she won’t be able to make it” came out. My mouth had a mind of its own lately. I held up the form. “But I’ll get this signed.”
“Sounds good. Let’s get to