The Hard Count(40)

“Oh no, I’m all wet!” I say.

Her giggling picks up, and she cups her hands now, filling them—albeit poorly—with water before skipping closer to me and throwing it at me. I don’t feel a thing from it, but I pretend again while Nico walks closer to us both.

“Ah, you got me wet again…oh no!”

I cover my cheeks and pretend I’m scared, shielding myself from the water. While I’m acting, Nico sneaks up behind her in the yard, and just as she turns around, he lifts her over his shoulder.

“Ah, I’ve got her. She won’t get away with this!” he teases, running in tight circles around the sprinkler in the middle of their small grassy area.

His niece’s hair falls heavy toward the ground while he dangles her upside down, his strong arms holding her easily, swinging her head through the streams of water while the air fills up with the sweet sound of her laughter. I laugh with them, the sound so infectious. And when her cheeks turn pink, he flips her upright again, holding her to his chest while he sits in the damp grass, the water spraying both of their faces and soaking their clothes.

“I’m sorry, Nico!” she giggles. “I’ll dry your friend off. Just let me ess…ess….ex-cape,” she says, the word getting trapped between her tongue and the tooth she’s missing in the front. I want to hear that word said just like that from now on. I think I need to start every day with a water fight with Alyssa. I think I understand why Nico is so strong.

“Okay, if you promise you’ll dry her off,” he says, letting her out of his arms.

I have no time to react before Alyssa wraps her arms around me, hugging my legs with her shivering wet body, her wet hair sticking to me and making me wetter than I would have been had I joined them and skipped through the sprinkler, too.

“Thanks,” I mouth to Nico, who steps closer to the driveway from the grass.

He winks at me, then laughs.

“You better run in and put dry clothes on before Nana gets home,” he says, patting his niece on the butt as she sprints by. His eyes watch her until she makes her way into the house, and the smile on his face is something I haven’t seen him wear before, except maybe at the pep rally, when he talked about the meaning of family.

I watch his face glow with love until he turns his eyes to me and catches me. For the first time ever, I don’t look away, though. I’m not afraid of being caught.

“What?” he says, after a few seconds pass. He speaks through a crooked smile, and the earnestness with which he does just about everything hits me hard.

“I like watching you with your family. You’re like that with Sasha, too,” I say.

“Oh, you’ve seen me spin Sasha around on my back through the sprinkler?” he jokes.

“No,” I say, laughing and looking down at his wet shoes, socks, and soaking cotton shorts. The material clings to his thighs, and he shakes them loose with his fingers. “I…” My tongue stumbles as my eye follow his hands up the length of his arms as he pulls off his soaking wet T-shirt, wringing it out by twisting it in front of him. It’s not the water falling away from the shirt; it’s not the water at all. It’s how his stomach chisels, his abs curve individually and how his chest grows broader until I realize I’m staring and not talking at all.

“I just mean that you seem like family with Sasha. That’s all,” I say, only glancing up enough to see his face looking at me sideways, one eye squinting, and his lip tugged up in a smile. I turn away the moment our eyes meet, and I wait at least three seconds before looking up again. I know, because I count in my head. His eyes are still waiting for me, his head cocked in the same position. His lip raises higher this time, and a small, breathy laugh escapes.

My shoulders fall as I exhale and turn my head to match his, leaning to the side and putting one hand on my hip.

“What?”

His lips press together tightly, and curl slowly on the sides, until both cheeks are dimpled with his suppressed laugh. I’m amusing him, and I don’t know why. I hold my hands out to my sides and raise my shoulders and eyebrows, and finally his lips break their hold and his laughter escapes.

He never answers me, instead looking to the wet shirt in his hands, which he slings up and down a few times, then lies flat on the hood of my car.

“Uhm…”

I point at it as he passes me, walking up his driveway toward the house.

“Your engine is hot. It will dry faster there,” he says.

I glance back at it over my shoulder, the wet cotton dripping down the front of my hood over my headlights. When I turn back, I run into Nico’s chest, not realizing I was as close to his porch as I was and that he had turned to wait for me. His hand wraps around my upper arm and my face touches his bare shoulder, my eyes closing while my skin heats up in instant blush.

“Oh, sorry…I wasn’t looking,” I stumble.

His hand still on my arm, he squeezes, an almost hug.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Come on in.”

Nico holds the screen door open, and I step inside, walking past him. He gestures toward the kitchen, where Alyssa is already sitting in a wooden chair at the head of a giant butcher-block table. The little girl is wearing an oversized T-shirt—clearly her uncle’s—and a pair of unicorn leggings. He rustles her hair as he walks by, stopping to scoop the length of it up and twist it into a temporary ponytail on her back.