Asking for Trouble Read Online Free

visits,” she told Alec. “He’ll be home soon. Have you two had dinner?”
    And it was like that. Joe dumped his bag and pack onto a
trundle bed that Alec pulled out from underneath the twin bed in his small
bedroom, which made it so there was just about no room at all in there, and ate
hamburger-noodle casserole and green beans at a big oval table in a comfortable
living-dining room, and listened to Alec’s mom—Mrs.
Kincaid—catching her son up on the news, and asking him questions about
his classes, about Stanford. Tossing the occasional question Joe’s way, but not
pressing him, not like he’d feared.
    Alec’s dad came in in the middle of it, gave his wife a
kiss, his son another big hug—they were the huggingest family Joe had
ever seen—and shook Joe’s hand, echoed his wife’s welcome.
    He was a bear of a man, as tall as Joe, and even broader
across the shoulders. Barrel-chested, thick-thighed, with massive hands, more
like a construction worker than a Presbyterian minister. Black hair, a strong
nose and cheekbones, a face to reckon with, kindness in its lines, but firmness,
too. His dad was a quarter Cherokee, Alec had told Joe with some pride, and it showed.
    Mr. Kincaid was eating his own casserole, catching up with
Alec, and Joe was having seconds that Mrs. Kincaid had urged on him and seeing
that even the huge roasting pan of noodles, meat, and cheese wasn’t going to
last long, when the back door slammed again, the kitchen door burst open a
moment later, and a girl whirled through it like a sudden gust of wind, talking
as she came, and the room was charged with electricity. And Joe was staring,
his fork in midair, all the air sucked out of his lungs.
    “Alec!” She was on him, her pretty mouth stretched in a
smile, and he was standing up, and, yes, hugging her, laughing in his turn.
    “I’m so tired!” she
said, flopping into a dining chair next to her brother, picking up the spatula
sticking out of the casserole pan and dishing up a healthy serving, grabbing
the milk carton and pouring herself a glass. “Practice was brutal. Coach Saller thinks just because it’s Christmas, we’re
going to get all fat and lazy, so she has to work us three times as hard now, or we’re going to lose in disgrace or
something.”
    Everything she said seemed to be in italics, or have an
exclamation point at the end. Darting glances flicked between Alec and Joe out
of sparkling dark blue eyes extravagantly fringed with black lashes, the delicately
curved, nearly black brows quirking as she smiled, lowering into a brief frown,
her pretty face with its finely carved features in constant, vibrant motion,
her energy more effective than any makeup could possibly have been, and Joe was
a lost man.
    “Alyssa,” her mother said. “Slow down. Say hello to Joe, and
then wash your hands before you eat.”
    “Hello, Joe,” she said, and popped up again, danced into the
kitchen before Joe could even answer.
    He watched her go, because he couldn’t help it. Red sweats
over long legs, a red-and-gold Chico High Basketball t-shirt that clung to her
slim torso. Which had plenty of girl curves to it. Which he shouldn’t be
noticing. But he couldn’t help it.
    “And that,” Alec said with a grin as they heard water start
to run, “in case you had any doubts, is my little sister. That’s Alyssa.”
    She was in the room again, and the words were tumbling out
again. “Do you remember Heather Monroe, Alec? She’s our point guard. You
wouldn’t believe how fast she is! I
wish you were going to be here to come to the game, so you could see. She’s
gotten really pretty, too. You should see. Really.”
    That was the first night. The next morning, it got worse.

 
    He was sitting at the table again, eating pancakes and eggs
served up by Alec’s mom and thinking he’d be happy to stay in this house
forever, because she’d given him three eggs to start, and then just kept
sliding more pancakes onto his plate and urging