CHAPTER FOUR
CAYLEE
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Parking the car outsideScarlett and Cole’s house, I let out a sigh.She’s going to ask about Jake.I told her I wanted to enjoy Trina’s wedding and would tell her everything on Monday.
I now refer to Mondays as Aunty Cay-cay day.I don’t work, and after an hour at the gym and breakfast at my favorite coffee shop, I head over to see Zara, my niece.
I undo my seatbelt, grab my purse and start walking down the path.
What am I going to say?Hey, it’s nothing.I’m a whore and was banging this guy for a few months.Not dating.Just enjoying a variety of late-night orgasms.
Which, given the number of complaints I’ve been making about there not being enough good guys in the world who are marriage-worthy, she might have grounds to judge me.
I can’t expect to be meeting The One if I’m shagging Mr.Wrong.
Scarlett wants the gossip and to understand what Cole, the most protective brother in the history of brothers, is on about.
I’m sure he strained his eyeballs by giving Jake the stink eye all night at the wedding.
I could fudge a story, but Scarlett is my sister-in-law (to be) and she has an uncanny way of getting the truth out of you.
I knock on the door, and it’s ripped open before I get the third knock on wood.
“Thank god.I need to know everything right now,” Scar says, pulling me inside.
Christ.
“It’s not all that interesting,” I admit, kissing her cheek quickly and then heading into the kitchen.As I pour a glass of orange juice, Scar tightens her ponytail with a quick tug and hops up onto one of the stools.
Ready for story time.
“Listen, my life consists of diapers, breastfeeding and stories from the BHS locker room right now.Please save me.”
I laugh.
We both know that’s not completely true.Mom babysat for them on the weekend so she could attend the wedding, and Scarlett looked gorgeous.She and Cole are madly in love, and while they still argue like crazy, it's clearly some kind of foreplay, and that’s all I need to know about that.
They are very focused on Zara.
“Is she down?”
Scar nods and glances quickly at her Apple Watch.“Another fifteen minutes.So, spill.”
I sigh again.
Rounding the kitchen island, I pull out one of the stools and place the orange juice on the table, spinning.
“Fourteen minutes.Jesus.How bad can it be?”Scar kicks me gently with her toe.
“It wasn’t bad, I’m just not proud—”
