“King! You in here, man?”

I pull my hand back reflexively and move back several steps away as the office door is pushed open farther.

“You coming to ride?” Parker asks, oblivious to what was happening.

“No, I was just going to finish up some stuff and then take Lo to meet up with Mercedes.” King’s tone is so casual it’s as though he’s completely unaffected, while I’m still seeing the prospect of my clothes flying across the room every time I blink.

“Oh cool. Are you going through the video edits again?” Parker asks, taking a few more steps into the office.

King’s eyes move to me and stay there while Parker pulls up a chair. “Sorry, man, I didn’t realize how late it is already. We’re supposed to meet them now. I’ll show you the trailer later.”

“Oh, no problem. I have to get those jerseys back. Do you want me to take Lo?”

He shakes his head. “Nope,” King pops the last syllable and turns his neck from side to side, his ears nearly touching each shoulder.

The three of us stand in place, a curiosity spreading from each of us, creating more confusion to grow. Then King digs for his keys and nods to the hall, and we awkwardly traipse out of the room.

“Alright, well you guys have a good time,” Parker says, veering toward the shop.

“This is going to be really weird, isn’t it?”

“What?” King asks, opening the passenger door of his truck for me.

“Us.”

“What? You think it’s going to be weird to tell Parker that we’re dating?”

“More like telling anyone.” King closes my door and makes his way into the driver’s seat before he looks at me with an expression that makes me a little nervous, because unlike so many that I can read with a simple glance, I don’t know what it means.

“Lo, I already know what they all think.”

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated to tell anyone. We can keep work and our private time separately,” I continue.

“Parker was just trying to root around and see if what he’s heard is true. No way he hasn’t already heard the news. I told you, Lo, I don’t play bullshit games.” He turns to regard me as we travel down the driveway. “Are you bothered by others knowing?”

“No!” The word bursts from my mouth as I shake my head. “No, it’s nothing like that. I just … I work for your brother.”

“You’re acting like you’re the help and that somehow puts you below us.”

“Not below you, just an HR liability. My dad never hired women because he said it would be a distraction to everyone else, and I always hated that.”

“Welcome to Oregon, babe. Here, if someone treats you different because you’re a woman, you get to sue the fuck out of them.” King’s voice is a jumble of frustration and contrition.

“I wouldn’t sue you guys…” My eyes close for a moment with the ugly place this conversation has gone.

“They’re excited.” King shifts uneasily in his seat before looking over to me. “Everyone likes you, Lo. They know you aren’t in this for status, or to get with Kash, or anything else.”

“Get with Kash?” King’s eyes round on me and his brows are raised. I never even considered that people would attempt to use him to get to Kash when in my eyes, King is the main prize. I hope Summer kicked their asses.

“So how do we interact at the house?” This question seems far more important than King’s casual shrug and quiet laugh warrants.

“You can’t jump me in the kitchen or in the living room, but maybe the shop, depending on what everyone else is doing. The office is a pretty safe bet too.”

“King!”

His laugh grows louder while his grip on the steering wheel relaxes. “You can greet me however you’re comfortable. Just know that my returned greeting is going to involve kissing you, and possibly an ass grab.”

My cheeks lift into a smirk, appreciating he wants to kiss me when I’ve been wanting to kiss him every day that I’ve been working at the Knight residence and have seen him. Yet I know already that my ten-year-old counterpart and near sister is going to heckle the shit out of me.

“Why didn’t you send me your schedule?” King’s question doesn’t fit with my line of thoughts that are considering Mercedes’ reactions, causing my eyebrows to draw down with confusion. “You were going to text your schedule to me so I could come get you.”

“I don’t want a chauffeur.”

“Think of all the time you would save.” Low blow. Time is a constant shortage. “See, you would be able to spend more time on your portfolio and whatever else you want.”

“This is going to sound kind of crazy, but I sort of like the bus.” King sends me a silent look that says bullshit. “I like to see all the people. I need that inspiration when I start hitting lulls.”

“At least a third of the people that ride that bus talk to themselves.”

“It’s better than them trying to talk to me.”

He sends me another look of disbelief that’s colored with the slight hue of acceptance, or possibly defeat. It’s tough to tell which it is because he’s focused on parking.

King flips five pennies throughout the mostly empty parking lot and then speeds up to keep pace with me. His fingers lace with mine as we approach the doors. It feels good to hold someone’s hand. Growing up, I held hands with all of my friends. It was an acceptable show of love and friendship, like we were so giddy and happy to be together, we needed to be fused by our fingers. With age, holding hands somehow changes in definition. It’s no longer something you do with any friend. The acceptable list shrinks, which translates the action to hold a deeper sentiment. You hold hands only with people you’re sexually attracted to, like it’s a claim or a promise. I wish it were acceptable to hold hands with friends again, because while I feel a thousand tiny transmitters of emotion and lust being lit by holding King’s hand, it also brings me back to running through fields and pastures, giggling until I can’t breathe, sticky popsicles melting down my fingers. I’m mentally noting that I’m going to hold Mercedes’ hand tomorrow, knowing how likely it is that she never holds hands with anyone, when we step inside.

“What is this place?” I ask, looking up at the extensive sign as we enter the large space with the air conditioning running on high, regardless of the cool temperatures outside.

“Somewhere you can overcome your fear of being airborne,” King replies as my eyes dance over the large room filled with trampolines. “Come on, we need to get some socks.”

“Welcome to Fly High. Have you guys been here before?” A man who’s several inches shorter than me greets us.

“We’re virgins … at least for doing it here we are.”

Rolling my eyes to him, I drop my chin with annoyance. It only serves to make him laugh.

“Alright, well, you’ll both need to fill out these liability forms, then.” He gestures toward two monitors.

“Oh good, signing my death waiver is helping already.” My tone is dry, filled with a half-truth.

King chuckles and shakes his head as I sign my safety away. “You’re going to love this place.”

We climb the stairs and discover a vast area covered with trampoline panels, bridged by padded sections that extend to walls stretched with even more of the buoyant material. There are large foam pits to the side, a basketball court, a climbing wall, and more areas that I can’t see from where we’re standing.

“Ready?”

I look over to King with wide eyes. I can’t remember the last time I jumped on a trampoline, and feel the adrenaline rush of an eight-year-old me that was stirred awake in the parking lot, become fully awake. His lips pull up into that uneven smile that inspires me late at night, and he nods forward before stepping onto one of the rectangular trampolines. He bounces slowly without his feet ever leaving the surface. The energy in me rises as I step onto the one beside his and bend my knees, rolling my weight to my toes. My feet push off and I gain several inches of air beneath me. I land and push off a bit harder, feeling my heart race. I push further until I’m weightless, fearless, utterly lost in joy. I bounce to another rectangle of the mesh and bounce in a pattern only my feet seem to recognize. It leads me to a large mat that makes my body shift as I land on the solid surface, similar to the feeling one gets after riding a horse for several hours.