“What’s with all the hate, Lot?”
“There’s no hate.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Get over yourself. Not everything’s about you.”
“Then what’s it about? We used to be friends.”
“We were never friends.” Her words are a blade, slicing clean through the bullshit to the hurt I’ve long denied.
“My bad.” I raise both hands in mock surrender. “Guess I saw it differently.”
“Don’t pretend you care.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Forget it.”
“You seriously playing that? Like you don’t owe me an explanation.”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing.” She storms into the office and slams the door in my face.
“Losing It” vibrates through the speakers, FISHER’s beat syncing with the chaos pounding in my chest. I rub at the knot beneath my sternum and force myself to walk away.
Back at the bar, Delaney, a regular, leans over in a tight, low-cut dress. “Hey, Dice. Where ya been?”
“It’s not important. I’m here now.”
“So you are.” Her bright-pink nails trail up my forearm, tracing the lion tattoo. “Make me something special.”
This is my element. My zone. Flirting. Mixing drinks. Brushing it off.
I flash her a wink and grab the shaker. “You got it, sugar.”
Chapter Two
Lot
Do you know how hard it is to kill a cactus?
I’m a mood cook. Tonight, I’m making waffles from scratch, even if it is after ten o’clock.
“Can’t you do that without the mess?” My cousin Rayne frowns as batter drips off the ladle, splattering the counter on its way to the iron. She’s parked at the kitchen table in silk pajamas, pink rollers stacked in her hair, sipping tea and completing a crossword.
“I’ll clean up after.”
We’re both thirty, and like all Webber women, we’re built the same—thick thighs, fat ass, big boobs—but personality-wise, we’re night and day. She’s structure and plans. I’m impulse and imagination. It’s no surprise I drive her crazy sometimes. Still, she didn’t hesitate to let me crash here while I’m in town.
Thank God. The thought of living under my father’s roof again gives me hives. We never got along. Our fights were constant, with my mom always stuck in the middle.
“Howwas Docks?” Rayne asks, filling in the downward squares.
“It’s whatever.” I shrug. “I’m not really doing anything. Maurice just wants me there to supervise, like his staff’s gonna steal his liquor or slack off. His distrust is on a whole ’nother level. He’s still micromanaging everything from home.”
“That’s gotta be tough on Dice.”
I side-eye her over my shoulder. “Why you bringing that man into this convo?”
