by Mary Strand
“Liz. You’re looking good.”
I rolled my eyes and stepped past him. “Where’s Jane? I’m here to pick her up.”
He matched my pace as I walked uncertainly through the living room of the condo, trying not to be too nosy as I headed in the direction of the smell of coffee. “Good to see you, too. Can I grab your jacket?”
I tripped and pulled my jacket tighter. “No thanks.” I might not want Alex—understatement!—but he still didn’t need to get a closer peek at my sweaty T-shirt. I mean, gross.
He stopped me with a hand on my arm, but his hand jumped the instant he touched me. Hey, I wasn’t that gross.
“I meant what I said about the two of us teaming up to keep Jane and Charlie apart.”
His voice was so low, I had to move closer to hear him, which was the last thing I wanted. For one thing, he smelled too good. Like a cinnamon roll.
I shook my head to clear it. I didn’t want to spend another moment within inches of Alex, unless of course he handed me a cinnamon roll. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘teaming up,’ but you think my sister is a stalker. By definition, we’re not on the same team.”
“I didn’t say—” He broke off, shrugging. “Okay, I did. But you’re not the type to want some weird Pride and Prejudice thing happening, are you?”
“Why? Because I’m too gross?” Okay, maybe I was right this moment, but Alex was not too good for me. Even if he obviously thought so. I shoved past him, desperate to get Jane out of this place. “Dude, it’s just a novel.”
I found Charlie and Stephanie in the kitchen, but no Jane. I said hi to Charlie, who leaned against the sink in a scruffy pair of jeans and a navy-blue polo shirt. He held up his cup of java and offered me some.
“Thanks, but I’m just looking for Jane.”
Charlie grinned. “She’s avoiding all of us. Stephanie plied her with liquor last night, and she probably doesn’t feel so hot this morning.”
I glanced at Stephanie. Slouched in her chair, she looked tired and bored and not exactly thrilled to see me.
“What brings you here, Liz? I told Jane I’d give her a ride home whenever she wanted.”
Like last night? Right. “She didn’t sound too good on the phone, and I wanted to check on her.”
“What a great sister.” Charlie crossed the room to me. “And a Grateful Dead fan. I love it. Hey, let me take you to Jane’s room. I mean, the room where she’s staying.”
I found Jane curled up in bed, in what looked like Charlie’s pajamas, moaning. Thankfully, Charlie didn’t follow me into the room. Shrugging off my jacket, I rushed in and plunked down on the bed next to Jane’s hip, setting off a round of moans and groans.
“Jane? Are you okay?”
She opened her red eyes, looked cross-eyed at me, and closed them again. “I’ve been better.”
“No kidding. How many Cosmos did you drink? A dozen?”
“I stopped counting after three. Or five.” She put a hand to her forehead. “Ohhh. That hurts.”
“It’s such a nice day, can you walk home with me? Or should we ask Charlie for a ride?”
“Charlie?” She moaned again. “Oh, God, Liz. He’ll never want me now. I threw up all over the bathroom.”
Finally. Some good news in my campaign to keep Jane away from Charlie. But she looked so miserable, I couldn’t gloat.
“I’m sure he doesn’t care. Everyone gets drunk once in a while.” Except, well, Jane. I looked sideways at her. “Did you get so drunk that you, uh, did anything crazy? With Charlie?”
Jane’s eyes flew open. “I was sick!”
Just as I thought. Jane was still as sweet and virginal as ever. Less sober, maybe, but nobody’s perfect. Even Jane.
“So what do you want to do? Go home?”
Groaning, Jane covered her eyes with one arm. “I can barely move. Would it be okay if I stayed here a while?”
Mom and Dad would be thrilled. Not.
I sighed. She did look horrible, so staying here a while shouldn’t mess up my rescue-Jane-from-Charlie plan too much. “I guess so. What the heck. I’ll play nursemaid and stay with you, at least for the morning.”
So Jane stayed, and I stayed, and I had to give Charlie props for being cool about the whole thing. Stephanie? Not so much. When I went to find something for Jane to eat and mentioned I’d be cutting my noon chem lab and staying a while, Stephanie murmured something vulgar under her breath.
But I wasn’t here for Stephanie. Or for Alex, who gave me these weird looks whenever I popped out of Jane’s room, or even for Charlie, who hovered sweetly like the good guy I grudgingly had to admit he was.
I was here for Jane. I parked my butt for the duration.
Luckily, my entire life wasn’t turning into a remake of Pride and Prejudice, and I had the twenty-first century to thank for it. As I gave Jane her third round of Tylenol for the day, my mind flitted to The Book. No apothecary or doctor or whatever had called on Jane today, and we sure weren’t going to stay at Charlie’s for a week.
For one thing, Mom would shoot us.
I couldn’t figure Jane, though. If I’d woken up sporting the Hangover from Hell in a strange condo owned by God knows who and inhabited by Stephanie Bingham, I wouldn’t have waited long enough to take a single Tylenol. I would’ve hauled ass out the door before they put on a pot of coffee.
And let’s face it. Jane didn’t look tip-top. Her hair was flat on one side of her head, and yesterday’s makeup was either rubbed off or smudged around her eyes. Not that Charlie seemed to notice. Either the guy is too gallant to be disgusted or he’s absolutely blind where Jane is concerned.
By five o’clock, though, I was tired and hungry and itching to go home. I’d done my noble deed. Besides, if we stayed much longer, Lydia would probably raid Jane’s and my closet. I asked Jane, for about the twelfth time, if we could go home. Like, now. She rolled over and pretended to snore.
I was about to take drastic measures when someone rapped loudly on the door. I jumped to open it. Had Dad actually taken some initiative and driven over to reclaim us?
No such luck. Stephanie asked in a syrupy voice if we wanted to join them for dinner. Charlie and Alex were grilling steaks on the balcony, and Stephanie claimed she’d made a salad—unless, like my mom, she meant takeout.
I started to say no when Jane shot up in bed and said yes, we’d love to. Stunned, I blinked at her sudden recovery.
The instant I shut the door again, Jane’s hands flew to her hair and she swiveled to try to catch her reflection in the mirror at the far end of the room. She got up slowly, wobbled for a few seconds, and shuffled to the mirror. And flinched. Well, I could’ve told her.
She wailed. “I can’t let Charlie see me like this.”
I hated to break it to her. He already had. “Tell you what. Let’s put a bag over your head and make a mad dash for the elevator. I’ll call Dad if you can’t make it home on foot.”
“Funny.” She looked again at the mirror, tilting her head this way and that, the motion probably not doing much for her headache. “You have to help me look better.”
I took a breath and conceded defeat. “Use the bathroom around the corner. No shower, but you can wash up in the sink.” I gave her hair an appraising glance. Unfortunately, Jane would consider a baseball cap out of the question. “If you get your hair wet, maybe you can finger-comb it into decent shape.”
Ten minutes later, Jane’s face had undergone a drastic turnaround, thanks to soap and the concealer, mascara, and blush she kept in the cosmetics store she called her purse. She was stuck with the skirt and shrink-wrapped top she wore last night, which were wrinkled and more ripe than they’d once been. But I had a feeling Charlie wouldn’t mind seeing Jane’s boobs—I mean, the top—again. With any luck, he wouldn’t get close enough to sniff her.
Charlie was in the kitchen when we arrived. Jane, hesitant now, started fidgeting with the hem of her top, which only stretched it tighter over her boobs. I kept lo
oking at my watch, wondering how long—in minutes and seconds—I had to wait before whisking Jane out of there. With Charlie staring hungrily at Jane, I went with Plan B. Before dessert.
After a few minutes of semi-coherent babbling, Charlie headed out to the balcony, carrying a platter of Porterhouses. I think he wanted to take a breather from the sore neck he was getting from staring down Jane’s shirt, but Jane wobbled right after him, claiming she wanted fresh air. Ha. I hoped there was a chair outside, or she’d soon be face-down on the wooden balcony, pressing vertical grooves into her face.
It left me with Stephanie and Alex. He was supposed to help with the grill, but, amazingly, he must’ve decided to leave Charlie and Jane-the-stalker alone.
I kept my eye on Alex, trying to figure out if he was still as worried about Jane as I was about The Book coming true, but he just stood by the microwave, calmly swigging a Corona and glancing at my Grateful Dead T-shirt, his lips twitching. Stephanie, meanwhile, had changed into a silky blouse unbuttoned halfway down to nirvana, her bra pushing her boobs up to her chin. As I peeked down at my T-shirt, for once in my life I had the slightest niggling doubt about how I dressed.
I didn’t want to look like Stephanie—God, no—but maybe not so grubby. I had a drawer full of T-shirts, mostly from rock bands, but they were getting old. And, maybe, so was I. But I didn’t want to stand here worrying about it—not in front of Stephanie and definitely not in front of Alex.
As usual, my means of escape was to go to the loo.
Five short minutes later, I extracted myself from the heavenly scent of gardenia candles that someone—Stephanie?—set all around the bathroom. Just outside the kitchen, I noticed my sneaker was untied, so I ground my already slow steps to a halt. As I bent to tie the laces, I frowned when Stephanie’s snotty voice floated out to me.
“Jane obviously can’t handle her liquor, and I’ve never seen anyone have a hangover last all day like that. But she has nothing on her sister.” Stephanie cackled, reminding me of the Wicked Witch of the West—except, of course, that Jane was the one with the green face. “Why did Liz have to show up? Sweaty and dressed like a slob. Doesn’t she have a clue?”
Sucking in my breath, I took a step backward. What could I do? Stomp my feet, giving them advance warning, and return to the kitchen? Head straight out the front door, leaving Jane to these wolves? The options weren’t good. Besides, my mouth had been watering for a nice, thick Porterhouse.
I also wouldn’t mind a piece of Stephanie. Visualizing a single jab to her pinched face, I quietly tapped one fist into the palm of my other hand. Pow. Stephanie splattered all over the Mexican tile floor.
Stephanie tittered again, in a totally fake way. “You have to admit, Alex, Liz definitely isn’t your type.”
I held my breath, waiting for Alex’s inevitable slam.
After a long pause, he cleared his throat. “I never said she was my type. But Liz works out and likes classic rock. So?”
I blinked, stunned that he’d practically defended me to that vulture. Not that I cared—I mean, I don’t need his help—but the guy does have a cute butt. As I sashayed back into the kitchen, in all my slobbed-out glory, Alex raised his eyebrows and Stephanie sneered.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, Charlie and Jane came back inside, Charlie toting both the platter and half of Jane, who kept seesawing left and right. She needed a bed, badly, and I didn’t mean Charlie’s.
We each took a seat at the table. Even though Charlie’s borrowed condo was huge, it didn’t have formal rooms. The living room morphed into the kitchen and then into an eating and hang-out area that had white counters and barstools along the walls and, in the middle, a funky black granite table with mismatched, wildly colored chairs. I grinned. The whole place looked like a teenager with too much money put it together.
Pretty quickly, though, my grin faded. Charlie was cutting Jane’s steak and feeding her in little bites, and I couldn’t watch. Glancing in the other direction didn’t help. I got a full frontal view of Stephanie, who was doing everything she could to drape her cleavage on Alex’s plate. Ew. Porterhouse or not, I lost my appetite.
Finally, Charlie caught my eye and smiled. “You were super with Jane today, Liz. I wish I—” He stopped suddenly, eyes wide. “I mean, Jane is lucky to have such a cool sister.”
I didn’t think that was what he started to say, and no one else did either, and that was good enough for me.
Stephanie coughed hard into her napkin.
Unable to think of a response, I buried my head in my plate and kept eating food that now tasted like cardboard. It wouldn’t score me any points with Stephanie, but I had a feeling the scoreboard was rigged anyway. Within a few minutes, I’d cleaned my plate and glanced around the table. Jane wasn’t eating much, Charlie didn’t realize there was food on his plate, and the others were chomping away more slowly.
Stephanie, of course, noticed my wandering gaze.
“Sorry you’re bored, Liz. I’d offer you something to read, but you’re probably not the brainy type.” Smirking, Stephanie tried to flip her hair to emphasize her point, but a lock landed in her mouth. It took a moment to extract it.
I tried to force my own jaw shut. Stephanie, who dropped out of college after a year, thought I wasn’t brainy? My hand clenched in my lap, but I told myself that slapping her wasn’t an option. Okay, it was an option, and I’d get an evil kick out of it, but I’d pay the moment Jane got me alone.
Stephanie giggled, probably because no one was paying any attention to her. “Besides, we’re a little short on books. Charlie only buys computer games.”
After a long moment, Charlie glanced up from Jane’s boobs, and his eyes eventually focused. On Stephanie. “I invent computer games, Steph. Half the computer games around here are mine, and the other half are research.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Research? You blast space aliens for research? Nice work if you can get it.”
Charlie frowned, startling me. “My computer games pay for this condo, and my car, and your job. I don’t usually hear you complaining.”
Oh. My. God. As a thought leaped into my brain, I looked around the kitchen. I’d noticed more than a few computer games on the counter before dinner, and now I focused on them. Bingham Geek Blasters. Bingham games everywhere I looked. Charlie must be the wildly successful head of the world’s hottest computer-game company. My sister Mary is the computer geek in our family, but I knew enough to have a new respect for Charlie.
Even as I kicked myself for not reading Mom’s Google search on him, I grinned. Charlie, the overgrown boy, invents computer games. How perfect.
Charlie wasn’t grinning, though, when he slammed back his chair and headed out to the balcony. From the stunned silence, I guessed that he’d never said anything even remotely like that to Stephanie or anyone else. I mean, Charlie is a choir boy. A happy-go-lucky choir boy whose poor hormones must be out of whack from wanting to inhale Jane in one gulp. Either that, or he’d suddenly grown a spine.
I saw it as a Good Thing, but I suspected his sister, at least, wouldn’t like this new side of him. It might threaten the lifestyle to which she’d grown accustomed.
More subdued now, Stephanie tried to change the subject as she laid her hand on Alex’s thigh. “I know we probably shouldn’t talk about it in front of Jane and Liz, but how is the project going, Alex? It seems like it’s taking forever.”
Alex returned Stephanie’s hand to her lap just as Charlie came back inside. “Charlie’s project, or mine?” He turned, responding to the question in my eyes. “I’m here helping out Charlie—”
With what, I didn’t have a clue. And, thanks to Stephanie’s annoyed glare at me, I didn’t dare ask.
“—but that’s not what’s consuming me right now.” He laughed affectionately, surprising me. It softened the harsh planes of his cheeks. “Whenever I get free time, I’m busy restoring a 1965 Pontiac GTO back home. Myself.”
“What color?” The w
ords flew out of my mouth before I could stop them, and I shrugged when Alex gave me a look I couldn’t quite interpret. But it wasn’t disgust. I don’t think. “Just, uh, wondering. I love the old green GTOs.”
Alex nodded slowly, his brows quizzical, as I felt my cheeks flush pink. But...an old GTO? My dad’s ultimate dream car? I couldn’t picture Alex restoring one. Besides the fact that my dad and Alex had nothing in common, I was stunned that a pressed-khakis guy like Alex would actually tinker with a car instead of paying someone big bucks to do the work.
“I can’t wait to see it when it’s done, even though I still don’t understand why you’d want to get all dirty working on some old car when you have that fabulous Lamborghini.” Stephanie snuggled up to Alex, who had to be getting claustrophobic. “Right, Charlie?”
Standing woodenly by the back door, Charlie looked at Jane, raising his eyebrows as if asking a question, then took a seat again on the chair next to her. I think he was fondling her under the table. No wonder he seemed so distracted.
Finally, he glanced at Stephanie. “Alex’s GTO? Of course he wants to do it himself. But since when are you interested in cars?”
Stephanie pressed her right boob into Alex’s shoulder. By now, someone had to be getting bruised. “Oh, since forever.” She giggled, even though Charlie and now Alex were both staring at her. “I love hearing about Alex’s cars.”
More likely, she loved hearing Alex talk about anything. Or watching him breathe. And grabbing him while he did.
Curious, I wanted to ask Alex all about his GTO but zipped my lips. As the only car-loving girl in the family, I’d grown up gabbing about cars with Dad and, under his thrilled tutelage, even tinkered under the hood once in a while. But if I mentioned it now, Stephanie would snort, the guys would give me the same disbelieving stare they were sending Stephanie, and Jane—who knew I loved cars—would just keep leaning against Charlie and, well, purring.
I didn’t want Alex thinking for a moment that I was hitting on him. Even if I liked him, which I don’t, he barely knew I existed. Glancing down, I finally noticed that I’d dribbled steak juice on my Grateful Dead T-shirt. I wasn’t in Alex’s dating pool, and I told myself I didn’t care. Talk about swimming with sharks.