Stealing Home(39)

At the same time, the girls seemed to notice Luke was in a wheelchair. Like Alex, they both started laughing, exchanging a high five, to which Luke responded with a light-hearted grumble.

“Not cool to laugh at people in wheelchairs,” he said with a wounded look.

“We’re not laughing at people in wheelchairs. We’re laughing at you in a wheelchair,” Cameron, who appeared to be the middle sister, piped up. “I’ve never even seen you put a Band-Aid on, and you’re actually going to spend a whole day in this because you have an itty-bitty baby muscle in your leg that hurts?”

Luke gave a sigh. “I’m doing what my athletic trainer advised me to do.”

“Since when?”

Luke feigned being appalled. “Since always.”

That was when Alex came back into the room, clutching a bottle of water. “Since never.”

“You didn’t tell us she was a girl,” Cameron said.

Cameron and Gaby rolled to a stop in front of Luke, crossing their arms and giving him a look that was all accusation.

“I didn’t realize I had to.”

“You didn’t tell us she was a pretty girl,” Gaby said in a tone that made it seem like we were in some sort of interrogation room.

If his three sisters teaming up against him was getting to him, it didn’t show. He didn’t shift and the corners of his eyes didn’t crease—almost like he had plenty of experience keeping secret lovers veiled from his family.

“She’s the best athletic trainer on the team. I’d list a dozen qualities about her before her aesthetics, as nice as they are.” When he glanced at me, his gaze stayed there for a couple moments too long.

“You didn’t tell us you couldn’t not look at her and get a stupid smile on your face.” Alex shouldered up beside her sisters, circling her finger at Luke who, yeah, kind of had a stupid smile.

I looked away so I could bite my smile into submission before my act was blown by three of the most perceptive teens I’d ever met.

“Are you ready to go shopping or what? Because you shouldn’t keep teasing the person with the credit cards in his back pocket.”

“Threats.” Alex tipped her head. “So very idle coming from you.”

Luke groaned, shrugging deeper into the wheelchair. “We haven’t even gotten to the mall and I’m already in agony.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Gaby clapped excitedly, almost sprinting for the door.

“Archer sisters?” I almost had to shout over the shrieks of excitement as purses were thrown around shoulders and sandals slid into. “Ever wanted to play dress-up with your big brother?” Tugging on the bag I’d slung around the back of the wheelchair, I unzipped it.

“Ever? I’ll be in therapy until I’m eighty from the years of psychological damage they did in the name of dress-up.”

Seeing I had the girls’ attention, I ignored Luke’s complaints and dumped the contents of the bag on the floor. “Since I doubt I can push this load faster than the paparazzi can chase us, and I’m guessing you want to shop all day long”—I continued through another one of his grumbles—“we need a disguise.”

When the sisters saw what I’d brought along to disguise their brother with, they bounced in place. When Luke twisted his head over his shoulder to see what I had planned, he frowned.

“Oh, hell no.”





“GO, SHOCK!” A crowd of guys shouted as they passed us later that morning at the mall. Or they shouted as they passed a certain sullen-faced someone in a wheelchair.

“Go back to Orlando,” another grunted at us. Or at Luke.

I’d lost track of all the irritated groans from passersby, but they’d kept pace with the delighted giggles from the three Archer sisters.

“Why don’t you fly a Rays flag off of this thing so we can draw a little more attention?” Luke waved at the elderly woman we passed next, who was shaking her head at him like he’d just spilled grape juice on her floral settee.

“You know, I think there’s a sport’s memorabilia store not too far up ahead. We could use a flag, don’t you think, ladies?”

Three heads bobbed in eager agreement.

“That was a sarcastic suggestion. You know, since your sense of humor is clearly off-kilter.” Archer tipped his ball cap at the next bunch of guys who were wearing ball caps of their own. Of the rival team—the San Diego Shock. “I thought the point was not to draw attention to me.”

“Go Shock!” I hollered with the passing bunch, flicking the bill of the black-and-orange cap Luke had on. “Nope. The point was to not draw attention to Luke Archer, batting legend for the San Diego Shock.”

“Exactly. You can draw as much attention as you want for being the chump diehard fan of the rival team in the Shock’s home city.” Alex, who was taking a turn wheeling Luke through the mall, winked at me.

“Clearly,” Luke said, pinching the Orlando Rays jersey we’d forced him into as if its mere existence offended him.

We hadn’t stopped at the jersey though. We’d dropped a Ray’s ball cap on his head, hung a foam finger off of one of the wheelchair arms, and tied about a mile’s worth of black and orange streamers all up and around the wheelchair. Luke Archer was officially the Orlando Rays biggest fan, and it was about to cause a mutiny in San Diego, where fans bled Shock royal blue.