“Okay, lady.” I forced myself not to laugh as I raised my handsin surrender. “Coffee?”
“Yes,” she breathed out. “Coffee. STAT.”
“You should have been a nurse,” I mused as I grabbed pods for my Keurig.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because you have the lingo down.”
“Shut it.” Dylan gave me her I-will-stab-you-in-your-sleep eyes, and I smiled.
“Nurse Dylan. I wonder if you’d be anything like Nurse Jackie. Let me see your eyes. Are your pupils pinned?”
I hearda quiet snort and turned to see her biting back a smile.
“I totally beat your record!”
We’d had an unwritten contest for as long as I could remember that whenever one of us was having a bad day, the other one had to get her to laugh. Dylan could usually get me giggling within minutes; however, I just beat her best time, so I did a happy dance around my kitchen while I’m sure she plotted my murderin her mind.
“Let’s go out tonight,” I suggested, handing her a cup of coffee.
“Um, hello. No job, no money.”
“I’m paying.” I smiled. “Or Daddy is.”
My father was, how do you say... absent? So when my parents separated, he gave Asher and me credit cards to use whenever we wanted. Even after my parents reconciled (for appearances only, let’s be honest), Daddy insisted we keep the cards “foremergencies.”
Asher never touched his; as a highly skilled attorney, he didn’t need to. Me? I hadn’t quite found myself. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I didnothing, but planning fundraisers and events for Mother and Daddy isn’t what I ultimately wanted to do with my life. I was good at it, but it wasn’t my bliss. Of course, using Daddy’s money whenever I wanted todidbring a certain measureof joy. Also, considering I did the work for less than most event planners would charge, I let my father assuage his absent-parent guilt when I needed cash for retail therapy... or bar hopping.
“Addie.”
Before I could respond, my phone buzzed. “Oh, look, it’s my brother.”
“Don’t answer,” Dylan demanded.
“Hey, Ashey.”
“I’m killing you in my head,” she hissed.
I gave her a sassy smile andfocused on my brother. Asher was two years older than me and besides Dylan, my best friend. It had been the two of us against the world (or our parents) forever—still was, to be honest. Then along came Dylan, using her sharp wit and small-town charisma to carve her way into the position of (her words) third wheel, although, admittedly, she provided just the balance we needed.
We’d had more funthan three kids should legally be allowed to have, until she and Asher caught the feels for each other and started acting more like two stooges.
“Hey, sis,” Asher said.
“What’s up, favorite brother of mine?”
“Can I swing by and grab that portfolio I asked you to look over?”
“When?”
“Like, now?”
I glanced at Dylan and she glared at me, shaking her head. She must have heard Asher’s question.
“Ummm...”
“I know it’s before eleven, but it’ll only take a second. I can just let myself in, but wanted to call in case your gun wasn’t in its safe.”
