Destination Reached

JAKE

Sophia and I were friends.

    I couldn't believe she'd given me a nickname. I'd never really had one before. The guys on the football team called me Jones, until they caught on to the fact that my father call me Jakey. That was the beginning of the end. My mother hated nicknames. Why on earth would you shorten the name you were given? I guess, technically speaking, Jake was a nickname. Since my actual name was Jacob. But I'd gone by Jake for so long, I didn't think it counted.

    Sherlock. It was actually sort of perfect. When I was little, I'd always dreamed of being a detective. Come on, how hot would I look with one of those old timey pipes? Secretly, I still sort of wanted to be a detective. It seemed cool. The action and physical skill I thrived under, and I loved observing people. To do it for living, well— well, it wasn't possible anyways. My parents would never stand for it.

     Also, when she said it, her blue eyes sparking as she looked up at me from under those thick lashes, I just about died. The slight smirk of her full lips. Sherlock. It was sort of the hottest thing I'd ever witnessed. Sherlock, god that was hot.

    I glanced down at Sophia on my left, the sliding doors opening with a swish. Her suitcase was nearly as big as she was. I wondered briefly how she'd fit against me. How her waist would feel in my grasp. How her head would fit in the crook of my neck, and how her legs would lock around my hips. Jesus. I needed to cool down.

    Unfortunately, that was not an option.

    A blast of thick, hot air hit me in the face as we stepped out of the airport. I could immediately feel my neck perspire with sweat. Why on earth had I thought wearing a hoodie was a good idea?!

    "Damn, it's hot here," I remarked, fanning myself. Now I understood why people here were always at the beach.

    "Another astute observation," Sophia replied with a wry smile, and a perfectly placed roll of her eyes. I really liked when she made fun of me.

    I pursed my lips, "Don't get too cocky now, Randall." Although she had been right about the little sister thing. Technically, Brooklyn was my stepsister. My mother had remarried a couple years after she moved back to Chelsea. I didn't mind Bill. He was a neurologist at the university. Very quiet. Nothing at all like my father.

    There was a good ten year age gap between me and Brooklyn, but every time I visited them I made a point to spend time with her. Kids were fun, okay. And I knew how tough it was to be an only child. She was a cool kid too. Precocious and far too intelligent for her own good. I bet Sophia would like her.

    "Randall?" Sophia cocked her head.

    I lifted a shoulder, "You get a nickname too."

    "SOPH!" A high pitched squeal rang through the air. There was a dark haired girl waving her arms wildly, jumping up and down on the side of the curb.

    Sophia dropped her bags and ran to hug the young woman, "ABS!"

    So that was the older sister. She looked similar to Sophia, but like— a hippie version of Sophia. Same dark hair and olive skin. Though, her sister had brown eyes where Sophia's were blue. Her dark hair was short with choppy bangs, and bracelets of all shapes and sizes lined her wrists. She was good deal tanner that Sophia as well, freckles dotting her face and arms. I wondered if Sophia would get freckles too. I think that might be it for me, if she did. I'd just cease to live.

    I grabbed Sophia's discarded luggage in my free hand and made my way over to where a beat up, blue truck was parked.

    "Here," I said, handing Sophia her bags.