Eruption (Yellowblown™ Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

me a burrito, girl. I’m starving.”
    She squealed, “Rodney, put me down,” but I could tell she loved it , from her toothy smile all the way to her pointed toes.
    Boone turned toward the door to introduce me to some new arrivals. A silent prayer of gratitude played through my head when Rodney and Twyla left to get cheap burritos.
    We snagged two open spots on the couch when the beer pong teams rotated. The vinyl upholstery felt like a lint roller against my jeans, probably coated with the same sticky residue glazing the kitchen floor.
    I tapped a finger on my soda can and tried not to stare at Boone’s sculpted legs. The layer of hair shined where the sun hit. “Weren’t you team manager last year or something?” My home football game attendance had improved 100% after the bike ride. I’d seen him on the sidelines in a yellow polo shirt identical to the ones the coaches wore.
    “Sort of. I helped the second string QB and recorded the offensive plays during games.”
    “ The team didn’t need you this year?”
    He leaned forward to brace his forearms on his thighs , his soda cradled in his hands between his knees. “I felt stupid on the sidelines. I wouldn’t mind coaching kids or something, but here, with guys my own age, I either needed to be on the field playing or in the stands.”
    I hesitated to touch him, to let my hand rise to his back in a gesture of comfort, but when I gave in to the impulse, wow, his warmth welcomed my palm. The corner of his mouth lifted.
    “I shouldn’t have brought all this up, e specially before the first game,” I said. “Again.”
    His glance flicked over to me for a second. “It’s better this year.” He flexed the leg in front of him, and it looked damned near perfect to me. “Twenty-two months later, I feel close to normal.”
    He sat back, dislodging my hand . I placed it on my thigh as he angled toward me. “I can’t believe it’s been a year since we ran into each other on that ride. Serendipity.”
    “What do you mean?”
    I thought we were about to have a moment when a guy who’d been snoring on a faded folding lounge near the fence sat up like he’d been plugged in to power. “Dudes, we oughta head,” he announced.
    I longed to hear the answer to my question, but Boone rose, ready to pull me to my feet. I sucked down the last of the now-warm soda. Our empties clattered in an overflowing recycling bin in the kitchen.
    “C’mon, Cramer,” Boone said to the back of the bald head.
    “I’m not going,” Cramer sulked.
    “Sure you are. Hey, Sid, help me get Number 52 down to the stadium,” he said as he circled to the front of the couch.
    “I’m not Number 52 anymore, you douche. I’m a friggin’ reject with a busted neck.”
    “Don’t make me drag your sorry ass ,” the guy named Sid warned as he came around the other end of the couch.
    I stood back to watch. Cramer might be a reject, but his mass probably exceeded a compact car’s. Luckily, Sid’s build suggested a sumo wrestler who could lift a compact car over his head. With Boone there to help, I didn’t think Number 52 stood a chance, though the battle could be Marvel movie epic.
    “You guys suck,” Cramer grumbled . He unfolded to a minimum of six feet three and shoved a beer down his shorts. One for the road.
 
 
    Sid walked with Cramer. Boone and I followed, like chaperones on an elementary school class trip.
    “Sorry about this,” Boone said , gesturing toward his friends. “I should have asked you to do something after the game. I didn’t think he’d be this bad.”
    “Nah, you’re like an Eagle Scout , with your pack to tend and your rules to follow,” I whispered conspiratorially.
    “I’m not an Eagle Scout,” he protested.
    “You may not have been diagnosed, but you have all the symptoms.” He smiled at me, so cute I had to concentrate on my feet to avoid tripping on the uneven sidewalk.
    “You think I’m some kind of Dudley Do Right?” he asked, miffed.
    I