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  His eyes twinkled. “I’m not an eavesdropper. I had to break into my house somehow. My mom would be suspicious if I came home when I was on my way to a girl’s house.”

  “She’s suspicious anyway, I’m sure. Since you basically said you’d rather stay home and give me a violin concert without your shirt on than go to a girl’s house who just got off her braces and seems to want to do tongue things to you.”

  He raised his eyebrows, “Tongue things?”

  “Well, not rip up your tongue with the metal spikes on her braces.”

  He grinned happily. “You hung on every word I said, huh? Were you jealous? You wanted to do tongue things to me? You can Jane, anything you want. Let’s tear up that kissing contract.”

  “Go put on your clown costume.”

  He grinned. “What? You can’t take this hot manliness?”

  I grunted. “I can’t take the thought of your mom catching you in my room like this.” I gestured to his hot manliness. “Go clown yourself.”

  His grin grew, like I was adorable. “I don’t actually think I can fit into the costume anymore. It’s been a few months since I wore it—actually, almost a year. I’ve grown a lot since then.”

  “Why exactly did you have a clown costume?”

  His jaw muscles flickered. He stared into my eyes and seemed to be weighing what to tell me. Hesitantly he finally said, “I’ll explain everything to you, Jane. Tonight. But first you have to promise that if I tell you, you’ll keep seeing me like this. Well, you can pretend I have a shirt on, if it will help you breathe—since I heard you tell your friend you can’t breathe when you see me without a shirt—”

  “That’s not what I said!” (Okay, it was.)

  He went on, like I didn’t lie, or utter a word, “But you have to promise to keep seeing me like this—hot and everything—and not like how you’re going to suddenly remember seeing me.”

  “I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “I know, and I love it.”

  “Wha—??”

  He put two warm fingers over my lips, stopping me from talking. Or my heart from beating. He looked into my eyes, making me swoon. “I’ll be right back.”

  He left, but only a few moments later I heard voices in the hallway. I rushed to my door and peeked.

  “I knew you would come back!” Hunter’s mom said incredulously, not exactly sounding mad, just sounding … well, I don’t know—exasperated?—wary? Something not altogether pleased, that’s for sure.

  “I only came back for this,” Hunter showed his mom his clown outfit he had wadded up in his hands. “I thought I’d put it on for Tommy and give you guys a private violin recital—since Tommy thought the idea was so hilarious—and since it’s my fault he broke his legs and everything.”

  Mrs. Gilly folded her arms looking sardonically suspicious. “You’re going to give us a violin concert?”

  Hunter nodded. “As a clown.”

  … and then he did it!

  He put on his costume—which was tight and ridiculous—yet somehow, dead sexy (to me), since he didn’t put on any face paint and his long-lashed eyes stayed glued on me as he played.

  … And he played awesome. So not like a clown. But like a hot guy that put on a clown outfit to make his brother laugh.

  And make me swoon.

  After he was done playing his (hotly performed) violin, Hunter suddenly started to choke! He held on to his throat, turning bright red, then—!!

  —he coughed out a handkerchief! To Tia and Tommy’s delight Hunter quizzically started to pull, and then pull and pull and pull the colorful material from his mouth, pulling and pulling, the material going on and on and on, the long strand piling to an enormous height on the floor. Finally reaching the end, tied to the very, very finale of the handkerchief was a tiny thumb-drive of a computer game—the game Tommy had been begging his mom to buy for him.

  “What the—??” Hunter said as he stared at it in dramatic wonder. “Man, I swallowed another game?”

  He tossed it to Tommy. “Here, you can have it. It didn’t taste very good.”

  “That’s because you don’t have good taste,” Tommy said with a happy grin, thrilled to have the game—plus the fact his brother, who he idolized, had just coughed it out for him. Trying to hide his pleased smile, Tommy went on, trying to sound indignant and serious, “The critics loved this game.”

  “Well, they obviously didn’t regurgitate it,” Hunter said, mussing up his brother’s hair.

  “No, probably not,” Tommy said, wheeling back from his brother’s ruffling. “But then, they didn’t have to make up for forcing fellow creatures to listen to a ‘private recital’ of a violin.”

  “Which you played exquisitely,” Mrs. Gilly said, giving her son an affectionate kiss on his forehead, obviously quite touched that Hunter had bought Tommy the gift of his own accord—and with his own money.

  Hunter backed away from his mom the same way Tommy had backed away from his brother.

  Hunter turned to me with an almost shy smile. “How did you like the show?”

  I reddened, inexplicably mortified/terrified he would know just how much I liked it. I swallowed, trying to manage to speak, but my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Still, I did my best, tried to sound breezy, and non-love-struck. “You’re a great clown.”

  His eyes twinkled as his smile grew. “I learned from the best.”

  Oh my gosh! He saw me be a clown.

  CHAPTER 16

  “Okay, spill,” I told Hunter when we were once again alone in my room. (Him safely dressed as a clown this time, rather than shirtless.)

  Hunter groaned slightly, like he didn’t really want to spill. He drew in a breath. “I was at the hospital your brother was staying in,” he explained softly.

  I gawked at him. Couldn’t process. Or breathe. “You were at my brother’s hospital?!”

  Hunter’s answer was a slow nod. “He was in a coma—I realize. I was right next-door. But I’d hear you through the wall of his room, reading to him and visiting with him. You seemed so nice, I wanted someone like you to visit me.”

  “Your parents didn’t visit you?”

  “No, they did—of course. And so did some of my friends—sometimes. But hearing you as I lay there, I longed for you to be my friend. To care about me, and take care of me like you were your brother.”

  “My brother died.”

  Hunter’s jaw muscles flicker a moment. He winces. “I’m sorry,” he says huskily.

  Slowly I nod, not able to say anything since for a moment a stab of pain slices through my heart. I swallow and quickly change the subject, so I don’t burst into tears. “You were at the hospital?”

  His answer is a slow nod. “I had cancer I was fighting. The treatments they gave me made me fat and bloated and all my hair fell out—I was not a pretty sight. But one day you came into my room as a clown, and you did that handkerchief gag I did for Tommy—I was too weak to do anything but stare at you all glassy eyed. I couldn’t even say anything—not a word. But you were so nice, and you tied a balloon to my bedpost and drew a clown face on it—and I’d thought maybe I had dreamed you, but when I woke up, the balloon was still there—smiling at me.

  “And once I saw you in the hospital hallway when you were talking to a nurse. I was laying in my hospital bed and you saw me through my open doorway. Your eyes went on me distractedly as the nurse was chatting with you. When you saw me, your eyes got all kind and sympathetic and you gave me a tiny wave. I waved back—well, I tried. I must have looked really pathetic, because you came in and talked with me, and even though I was too weak to say much, you sat there—visiting with me like you had all the time in the world for me. And you read to me. You picked up the book I couldn’t actually see anymore, and you started reading it to me, all sweet and soothing. I sat there glassy eyed. I was on drugs, okay?—but you were like this bright shiny angel to me, sitting there reading to me as I fought going back to sleep—I tried so
hard not to. But I did, I fell asleep with your voice filling my drugged-up crazy dreams. Then the next day I kept hoping you’d come back—and you did! My heart practically exploded with happiness when I saw you come through the door. I taught you to play chess—when you first got there, I was so happy to see you, I had enough energy to do that—to see and teach, and carry on a conversation. But then I fell asleep in the game … and you never came back.”

  “My—my brother died.”

  He nods. “I know that now.”

  He sees my eyes welling up again and quickly changes the subject. “But my brother is alive and needs someone to watch over him. So I had my mom choose you. Because I knew what a kind, caring person you are to someone who’s sick.”

  I give him a withering look, “He has broken legs.”

  Hunter shrugs, “He needs care.”

  He tilts his head. “You’re very caring.”

  Warm tingles rush through me.

  I quickly change the subject, because, apparently, I’m not mature enough to handle compliments from Hunter. Compliments from Hunter make me feel like I’m going to explode. I quickly gush out words—any. “So, that’s how you convinced your mom to hire me?”

  Hunter looks up at the ceiling, like he doesn’t want to say. “Sort of. That and your awful aunt helped. My mom and I had heard the way your aunt was talking about you at your dance lesson—yet I had told my mom how you really were. I know my mom can seem intimidating. But she’s really kind of a mushy kitten at heart—she just hides it well. Really well. But it’s there. And she didn’t like the way your aunt was treating you. She also didn’t like the way I was all gaga over you—but her kitten heart won out. It always does. But just don’t count on it—because if she knows you’re counting on it she’ll cast-off her heart and draw her sword—my mom is a warrior—but a soft kitten one, as long as you don’t count on it.”

  ***************

  End of peek.

  Hope you liked it.

  Jane’s Air is available now.

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  Heartbreaker Hanson

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  Table of Contents

  Maybe Me

  His Best Friend

  Peek at: Jane’s Air

  List of dollar books