"I don't know how I feel about you looking at me while you're—," he made a face, "using the bathroom."

I gave him a shrug, which only made him shake his head, and thrust out a hand in my direction.

"Let's go catch up to them," Sacha said, wiggling those long, slim fingers in front of me.

"All right," I only just barely didn’t whine. Before the whole shitting incident, we'd all agreed to take a break and eat something at the café, but from the looks of it, that didn’t seem to be the plan.

We'd been walking around for hours, and I'd brought the wrong shoes. On top of that, my knee was still killing me from falling on it the night before when Sacha had said… well, what he’d said. I wasn’t letting myself think about it too much. Mase was always saying stuff without really meaning any of it; Sacha’s comments didn’t have to be any different.

He raised an eyebrow and moved his fingers faster. "Come on. I'll give you a piggyback ride back, you cripple," he offered.

Piggyback ride? Yes. Piggyback ride on Sacha's back? Double, triple, infinity yes. I slapped my fingers out and took his hand without a second thought, letting him pull me up.

"Hop on before I leave you to the birds," he threatened.

"Yes, sir," I told him while I jumped as high as possible. He grabbed the backs of my thighs and hoisted me up a little more while I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Let's go, my chariot. I've cleaned up enough shit for the day."

He laughed and slapped me high on my thigh before beginning our walk down the path. We were both quiet for all of a minute or two before Sacha turned his head a little so that his cheek was right next to mine. "I like the way you smell. What is that, oranges?"

"Yes. I took a shower this morning," I reminded him while trying not to be shameless and inch my face closer to his.

"Was today your once-a-week shower?" he deadpanned.

I sighed. "Twice this week, Sassy. Consider yourself lucky."

Sacha stopped walking. "Should I call Guinness? Tell them about your new record?"

I let go with one hand and bopped him on the nose. "Jackass."

* * *

"He doesn't know," I told him.

Sacha made a face. "He knows."

I couldn't help but snort as we looked at my brother flopping around the floor like an a little kid on too much candy, talking to Gordo about who knows what. We'd been sitting behind my merch table for about half an hour counting T-shirts and talking about the worst injuries we’d ever had after I had shown him the huge bruise below my kneecap from the night before. The fact that Carter was sitting behind TCC’s table, doing the same thing by himself, wasn’t lost on me, but I promised myself I’d help him out later once my assistant was gone.

"He knows he has blood, but he doesn't know what type," I clarified. “If he ever ended up needing a blood transfusion and he couldn’t call my mom, my sister or me, he’d end up dying when they gave him a different type.”

"Nah, he knows. He has to."

Eli threw a drumstick in the air, and then tried to catch it by pulling the waistband of his pants out to catch it… with his ass crack. "No way."

Sacha and I turned to look at each other and we each made a weird face.

"I bet you twenty bucks he can’t even name the different types,” I told him with a snort while watching my brother try his trick again.

He slapped my back gently and nodded. "Deal." Sacha brushed off his

pants, winked at me and yelled across the venue, "Eli!"