by Lex Martin
Tori hands me a plate heaping with pancakes, and I press my hand over my heart. “Swear to God, if Ethan wasn’t marrying you, I would.”
Ethan grunts his annoyance, and I chuckle under my breath. I love to get under his skin. Call it the little brother syndrome, but I take great pleasure in yanking his balls. Tori’s hot, sure, but she and Ethan have always had eyes for each other, and they know I respect that.
Tori smiles and sinks into Ethan’s lap as she waves at me. “You’re a little scrawny for my taste.”
My brother gives her one of those googly-eyed smiles, and just like that, they’re off in their own little world, and he’s talking in that gentle voice he only uses with her or the kids. “I’m sweaty, baby.”
“S’okay. I don’t mind.” She gazes at Ethan for a second before she plants a kiss on his cheek.
I cough and get back to her diss. “Scrawny? Ouch. And here I was planning to get y’all something nice for your wedding.” Damn. I need to get them a gift. I’d forgotten about that.
She slides the syrup to me. “You know you don’t need to buy us anything. We love having you around. In fact, you’re the brutha I always wanted.” She makes a goofy face at me. My brother is so damn lucky.
“Shucks, Tor. Now I really need to get y’all something nice.” I make a mental note to pick Joey’s brain. She’ll know what I should get. “Unless I can just go with that homemade coupon book with free babysitting that I saw on Pinterest?”
Tori’s head jerks up. “If you think for a moment I won’t jump on that and suck up your Saturday nights, think again, stud.” She picks a piece of turkey bacon off Ethan’s plate and takes a nibble. “And since when do you use Pinterest?”
“I’m a man of many talents.”
“Clearly.”
I shovel in a few bites of breakfast. “Where’re the kids? It’s too quiet.”
Ethan points over his shoulder. “With Mom. She’s playing Legos with them.”
With my fork halfway to my mouth, I pause. “Don’t let her overdo it. She’ll tell you she’s not tired when she is.”
“You do know our mother is an adult, right? She tells me when she’s had enough.”
This bonehead. “Don’t you know anything about women? She only tells you when she’s at her breaking point, which is well beyond what she should do.”
Ethan shakes his head at me. “That’s really good advice. Maybe you should think on that a little longer.”
Tori elbows him.
“What?” I look between the two of them. “What aren’t you saying?”
But two tiny demons stomp down the hall and interrupt the conversation.
“I’m starving!” Cody announces as he swipes his arm across his nose.
Tori reaches over to wipe his face with a napkin. “You two eat more than hobbits. Come on. Time for second breakfast.” She pulls out a big bowl of sliced fruit and settles the kids at the table.
When I’m done eating, I rinse my plate and tuck it away in the dishwasher. “What time do you need Joey for the dress fitting tomorrow?”
“Can you bring her here at three?” Tori reaches for a napkin to clean a glop of something that flew off Cody. “The fitting isn’t until the evening, but I want to take her shopping.”
“I can take her shopping. What does she need?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Everything?” I stare at Tori, confused, and she sighs like I’m a dunderhead. “She was planning to pick up more clothes at her grandmother’s…”
She pauses while I piece together the clues.
“But Silas probably threw out her stuff when he sold the house.” God, I’m a moron. “Of course she needs more clothes.”
Tori gives me a patient smile. “So three o’clock?”
“Let me take her shopping tomorrow.”
She folds her lips between her teeth for a second. “Sounds good. But be sure you make suggestions because you know she won’t tell you she needs anything.”
“Okay. Yeah. Like what?”
I get out my phone to take notes.
“I don’t know. Shirts, shorts, bras, underwear, a swimsuit, tampons…”
“Whoa. Whoa. That seems awfully personal. You want me to say, ‘Hey, do you need tampons?’ She’ll curl up and hide behind a giant bin of Cheerios.”
Mila waves in my face from her seat next to me. “What are tampons?”
I blink slowly. “Nose plugs. For when you get a nose bleed.”
“Don’t tell her that.” Tori laughs. “Honey, they’re for females. We can talk about it tonight, okay?” She glances at Ethan and he nods.
I swipe an apple slice from the platter. “They are good for nose bleeds. I speak from experience. When Kimmy Schumacher’s brother punched me in the face for kissing his sister, she gave me a tampon for the bleeding. Worked really well.”
Ethan chugs down the last of his coffee. “It’s amazing you’re as pretty as you are considering how many people have taken a swing at you over the years.”
“Aww, bro. I’m touched.” I pretend to cry and the kids crack up. “Okay, so I’ll take Joey shopping, and I’ll be sure to ask if she needs feminine products.” God help me.
I’m not squeamish about things like that, but Bitsy gets embarrassed easily, especially around me for some reason.
And fine, I’ll admit addressing things that go in particular parts of her body I try not to think about might make me uncomfortable.
“You sure she can wait ’till tomorrow? I got too many things to do today or I’d run her into town this evening.”
Tori nods. “I grilled her last night, and she said she just needed to do some laundry, and she’d be fine. I think that’ll get her by for a little while, but definitely not for her whole visit.”
I down the rest of my coffee, mentally tallying the tasks I can get done today to clear up my schedule for Joey’s shopping trip tomorrow.
“How’d she like her puppy?” my brother asks as he get up.
“Um.” I scratch the scruff on my chin. “Didn’t tell her.”
Wide-eyed, Tori gasps. “Why not?” She starts muttering to herself, something about serving it up on a silver platter, but then trails off.
“Did you miss the part about her going back to Florida? Can she have pets at her place? If I had known she wasn’t staying, I would’ve thought this through better.” Staying here means I could’ve helped her with the pup while she settled in.
I was so excited to give her the gift, but now I feel like a dumbass for not being smarter.
A darkness settles over me when I try to imagine what it’ll be like if she leaves permanently. There’ll be a Joey-sized crater in my life, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it.
Tori taps on the table. “You overthink everything. Just give her the dog already. Who knows, maybe that will help persuade her to stay? Trust me—she’ll be ecstatic about the gift.”
It’s funny how most people think I’m impulsive, but Tori’s been here a few years and she knows me better than that. Well, maybe my younger self was impulsive, but the grown version of me has a mortgage, bills, and too many responsibilities to count, so I have to be smarter.
My mother waltzes in, looking no worse for wear after playing with the kids this morning. “Who’ll be ecstatic?”
I can’t handle any more talk about Joey, so I thank Tori for breakfast, kiss my mom on the top of her head, and leave the peanut gallery while I make my way to the barn behind the house.
At least the horses won’t ask me what I’ll do with myself if Joey leaves for good.
8
Joey
With a pained groan, I roll over and blink at the clock on the bedside table. I can’t believe it’s almost noon. Beverly’s bed is ten times more comfortable than mine in Florida.
That bus ride wore me out, and I nearly slept myself into a coma last night.
Rambo’s wet nose peeks over the bed.
“Hey, handsome.”
He wags his tail happily, unawa
re of the knot in the pit of my stomach. While I’m still pissed as hell at my brother for selling Gran’s house, this is the longest I’ve gone without talking to him. He could be partying in Vegas or lying in a ditch for all I know.
Reaching for my cell phone, I speed-dial my brother and get the same outgoing message: “Leave a message or don’t. Nobody cares.”
Charming, isn’t he?
“Silas, hey. It’s me. You’re starting to freak me out a little. Call me so I know you’re alive.” I don’t bring up the house because if I nag him over the phone, he’ll never call back. “I’m leaving again for Florida soon, so I hope to hear from you.”
When I hang up, I scoop up Rambo and snuggle him. His furry face makes me smile even though I don’t much feel like smiling.
Hunger gets the best of me, so I shuffle into the kitchen, pour some coffee, and pop two slices of bread in the toaster. Plopping down at the kitchen table, I tuck my bare legs under my shirt—Logan’s T-shirt—and get comfy.
Pulling the neck of the material to my nose, I breathe in his yummy scent. He tossed it to me last night as we were getting ready for bed. I hadn’t even asked him for it, but he seemed to know I could use something to sleep in. It’s a shirt I got him for his birthday last year that has a keg on the front and says “I’d tap that.”
Once I’m done eating, I decide to attack that pile of dirty clothes in my suitcase. I pause when I walk by Logan’s room, wondering if I should do his laundry too as thanks for letting me stay here. But handling someone’s dirty clothes seems too personal. He might not want me touching his stuff. I have a brother. I know boys are disgusting. My brother went through more socks his senior year of high school than I went through my entire childhood.
Silas used to tackle me to the ground to rub his dirty socks in my face. He thought he was hysterical.
It was probably a blessing that I never understood why they were hard and crusty until I was older. I shudder at the memory.
There are worse things than crusty socks, though. I eye Logan’s laundry basket in the corner of his room. What if I stumble across another woman’s clothes? Or condoms?
I blink back the sudden rush of heat in my eyes and scold myself for feeling hurt when I have no claim whatsoever to Logan. But this is my pattern. I know enough about what he does when I’m not around to get crushed.
Nope. Definitely not touching his laundry.
By the time the washer buzzes, I’m over my emotional crisis. I just need to keep reminding myself that I’ll be back in Florida soon and I can survive whatever happens here in the meanwhile.
I’m dangling over the ledge of the washer, reaching for my shorts that are plastered to the bottom, when a cough behind me makes me lose my balance and I nearly knock my head against the agitator. A second later, two large hands settle over my hips, and I’m lifted out of the enormous Whirlpool machine.
My face is ten shades of red when I make eye contact with Logan, who’s laughing so hard, he can barely breathe. “You fell in.”
I yank my T-shirt down over my butt. “Shut up. I’m tiny. How the heck does your mom do laundry with this thing anyway? She’s not that much bigger than I am.”
He reaches behind a cabinet and pulls out a step stool.
“Oh.” I cover one bare foot with the other, wondering how much of my rear he just saw. “What are you doing home? Didn’t you say you were working late today?”
Shrugging, he runs his hands through his damp hair. He smells like clean sweat and the sun. I’m guessing he changed his T-shirt before he came home, though, because it’s not soaked like he just walked out of a sweltering barn. “Thought you might want some company for lunch. Wasn’t sure how much food I had in the fridge, and I didn’t want you to starve. Brought home a few basics. Eggs. Lunch meat. Some frozen pizzas.”
It doesn’t matter that we ordered pizza last night. He’d eat that for every meal if left to his own devices. “Red Baron?”
“Of course.” He grins at me, and for a second, I’m swept up in those blue eyes.
Smiling back, because I can’t help but be pleased I know things about him other women don’t, I motion toward the kitchen. “I could make some sandwiches. You probably want something quick so you can get back to work. Or would you like some eggs and tots?”
He nods comically, and my smile widens because I know how much he loves eggs and tots. We discovered this combo the summer before I started high school. If you brown tater tots and crumble them up as you stir in the eggs, you get a delicious treat. “I would fucking love that.”
His exuberance makes me laugh. “Do you have any tots?”
“Oh, I have tots, baby, and I’ve been saving them for you.”
We both freeze, like we’ve tripped an invisible wire.
Awareness prickles my skin.
Logan has ten million nicknames for me, but he’s never, and I mean, never called me “baby.”
And call me crazy, but that sounded an awful lot like flirting.
Something warm stirs in my chest, and it battles with the cynical voice in the back of my head that says he’s so used to calling his hookups that name, it slipped out.
Rambo busts in and jumps between us, breaking the spell. Logan disappears but returns a minute later to toss me a pair of sweats. “Till your clothes dry.” He clutches his T-shirt at the neckline and pitches his voice up an octave. “So you don’t try to take advantage of my virtue.”
“You wish.” Giggling, I shove his handsome mug away from me.
But yeah, maybe I do wish.
9
Logan
Joey’s been in my kitchen before, probably dozens of times, but today, for some reason, I can’t take my eyes off her.
Her hair’s piled in a knot on top of her head, and my giant T-shirt slips off her slender shoulder. My sweats, which she rolled three times around her waist, hang loose from her hips.
If I ask her, I know she’ll say she’s a hot mess.
But to me? I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.
No makeup. No designer clothes. Just Jojo. The girl I’ve always known.
I reach down to adjust the goods.
Chill the fuck out, man. First you flirt with her in the utility room, now you’re watching her like a perv.
I wipe my palm over my face, needing to stamp out whatever’s going on in my head.
When she was bent over the washer, and I got an eyeful of her tight round ass in those little cheeky panties, the only thought registering in my pea-sized brain was how much I’d like to take a bite out of that. And then fuck it.
See? Pea-sized brain. Because nothing good will come from these urges.
Hitting on Joey is the worst idea I’ve ever had. Joey’s built for happily-ever-afters and white knights and shit, and I’m a Friday night fuck against my Ford and a few good laughs.
I force my eyes off my best friend and grab my phone to distract myself.
“Why is there so much ice on these?” Joey asks, shaking the bag of taters in the freezer.
“Probably ’cause they’ve been there since winter.” As I scroll through my feed, my eyes glaze over the images. “What?” I can feel Joey staring at me.
“Haven’t you had eggs and tots since then?”
“Who’s gonna make them for me, Jo? You know I can’t cook for shit.” I burn them every time. “My mom won’t eat frozen potatoes to save her life, my brother thinks it’s a sacrilege, and Tori mixes in chilis and vegetables.” Tori’s don’t taste bad, but it’s not the same as Joey’s. I shrug. “Anyway, it’s weird eating that without you. Maybe next time don’t leave so damn long so I don’t starve.”
Now I’m just being a cock, because she doesn’t need to cook for me, and I know this, but I’m still sorta pissed she left in the first place.
Her shoulders droop, and that smile she’s been sporting this afternoon fades.
Nice job, dick. No wonder she wants to move halfway across the country.
“Hey. I’m
kidding. I don’t mean to give you a hard time.”
The sound of the chair pulling away from the table makes me look up. Joey sits and fidgets with her hands. “I’m s-sorry I didn’t call you from Florida. I guess… I needed to get some perspective.”
Reaching over, I grab her hand. “I know you’re not ready to talk about it, and I respect that. I just need to ask you one question.”
She nods slowly, but I can see the hesitation in her eyes.
“Did I do something or say something that hurt your feelings? Is that why you left? Because, Jo, I swear I’m making myself mental trying to figure out if I did. If that’s why you ghosted me. Because I’m a cock and you finally realized it.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and it’s a knife to my stony, black heart.
But she doesn’t say anything.
There’s my answer.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Whatever it was, Bitsy, I’m so sorry. You know I’d never hurt you on purpose. You’re my best friend. I don’t know what to do with myself without you.” I squeeze her hand, my soul shredding with every tear that streams down her face. “Let me make it up to you. I know I get all up in my own shit and take you for granted, but I promise I’ll be a better friend. From here on, I swear.”
She wipes her eyes, and I can’t stand it anymore. I pull her out of her chair and into my lap where I squeeze her to me. She cries softly, and I kiss her head and rub my hand down her back.
“You’re important to me, Jo,” I say softly. “Don’t leave me like that again, okay? I know I might not always have you here by my side, but stay in touch. I get worried about you. And no matter where you go, you’re always gonna be my best friend. You have to know that.”
She nods, and I squeeze her tighter.
I’ve had a few good friends in my life. Once upon a time Silas, then Joey and my buddy Isaiah, who doesn’t get home much anymore. I know better than to think Patrick is a good friend. He might hang around a lot, but only ’cause it’s convenient. Of all my friends, Jojo is my ride-or-die. She’d bury a body in my back yard if I asked her to.