I donotwant to be like them.
And I’m not doing so hot, considering I now accidentally look like I’m that apple sitting not so far from the tree.
“Okay?” Dylan asks, rubbing my back gently and sending sparks of lust all over my body with that simple touch, his voice close, still carrying no judgment, the warm tones settling the upheaval in my head and making morning a little more bearable.
Am I okay?
Not at all. “Yes. Thank you.”
The microwave beeps, and I wince again.
Not because the noise hurts my head.
More because it makes him leap up, and now he’s not touching me anymore.
“Ah, sorry. Hold on. Let me get that.” He doesn’t go far. The microwave’s on the counter at the edge of the bed, which isn’t so much a bed as it is a crude couch.
This whole place is tinier than my sister’s new boyfriend’s tree house—yes, I’m serious—but I guess you don’t go big when you build a bunker.
You go survivalist.
It’s a wonder the folding card table fit in here last night.
Dylan hits the button to pop open the microwave door, and saliva floods my mouth as the full scent of the microwave breakfast sandwich hits my nostrils.
“You owe me a favor,” I croak out again.
He pulls the sandwich out of the microwave. “If that favor is walking you back to the school so you don’t have to do the walk of shame by yourself, don’t worry. I’ll do that for free.”
And that’s one more damn thing to like about Dylan Wright.
“I’m involved with someone,” he told me.
Yet he’s willing to walk through town before six in the morning with another woman.
How—how—can anyone be that secure in a relationship that they’re not worried about what that would look like?
Ican’t even handle the idea of being seen in public with him.
It says something, you know?
And I amnevergetting married.Ever.
When I have kids, I’m doing it on my own and then raising them with Naomi in Costa Rica, and they’ll never, ever,everknow the family that I came from.
I don’t know the first time I realized that money was the only redeeming quality about my family, and thatmoneybeing our best quality meant that we were all pretty much shitty human beings.
My father, as noted, is a serial cheater who’s spent his adult life working for Remington Lightly, the global consumer goods company that my grandfather founded decades ago. Dear old Dad has a law degree from Harvard and has spent his adult life doing as little as possible in Remington Lightly’s legal department. He’s one of thosenetworking on the golf course is a vital part of my jobpeople.
My mother’s first love is her tarot cards, her second love is her reputation, and her third love is taking credit for her kids’ accomplishments and blaming other people for her failures.
Until recently, my sister, Phoebe, was Robot Business Barbie whose sole mission in life was to step on everyone around her to climb the corporate ladder all the way up to CEO at Remington Lightly and look down her nose at the rest of us fornot actually doing anythingwith our lives.
And the baby of the family, my brother, Carter, has spent most of his adult life living the rock star lifestyle—booze, weed, and groupies—while claiming to have writer’s block for his next song. AsCarter Hardly, he’s had exactly one musical hit—kind of—and knowing our family the way I do, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out he cheated to get it.
And we all basically hate each other, because who wouldlikepeople like that?
Gigi brought us here to become a better family, and honestly, yes, I can tolerate Phoebe so much more today than I could two months ago—ever the achiever, she threw her heart and soul into fulfilling her mission so well that it actuallyworkedon her, to the shock of all of us. She’s traded her business suits for lady-lumberjack chic, smiles like she’s found joy in her life, and is dating the town’s grumpiest recluse and planning to stay here forever.
