I want to know if she’s filled with regret right now.
Ishouldbe filled with regret, but honestly, the memories of us together last night that are flashing through my mind don’t lead me anywhere near regret... they fill me with longing. Which is absolutely the last thing I should be feeling right now.
I watch as our parents finally kiss at the end of the ceremony, and my gaze slips past them to Morgan, whose cheeks turn pink as her eyes meet mine. She glances away so quickly I can’t read her expression, and I wonder for a moment what she saw in mine.
But then the recessional music starts up, and the officiant congratulates our parents. Max turns to shake my hand, and then Anne turns and gives me a hug while Max hugs Morgan.
We didn’t talk about this part—about whether the ceremony would just end here, or whether I was supposed to walk my stepsister back up the walkway to the hotel. Desperate to have a few moments to talk to her without our parents around, I opt for the latter, hoping she follows my lead.
Stepping forward, I hold my elbow out, lifting my eyebrows at her to indicate we’re about to exit together. Like a dutiful bridesmaid, she steps up next to me, sets her hand in the crook of my elbow, and we step away from my parents.
“What. The. Fuck?” she whispers, with added emphasis on each individual word.
I can’t help but chuckle at the way her thoughts mirror my own. But instead of lightening the mood, my chuckle has her fingers curling and her nails digging into my arm.
“Did you know who I was when you sat down next to me at the bar last night?” Her words are an angry stream as she glances up at me.
“Why the fuck would I have hit on you if I knew you were going to be my stepsister?” I keep my words low so we can’t be heard over the music, but they come out sounding gruff like I’m annoyed. I’m not annoyed, I’m enthralled.
“Who knows why guys do half the perverted shit they do?” She shakes her head. Her lips part, and I’m anxious to hear what she’ll say next, but from behind us, Max’s amused voice rings out.
“Hey kiddos, you don’t have to run to dinner. They’ll hold the table for us.”
I groan, thinking how painfully awkward this night is about to get.
Chapter Nine
MORGAN
Accidentally saying “orgasm” instead of “organism” to my hot lab partner during my college biology class. Walking in on my boyfriend getting a blow job from my roommate senior year. Showing up to my first day of work after college only to discover I had a pair of underwear stuck to the back of my skirt. Hitting on my business school professor, who was giving me all the right signs, only for him to tell me I was way too young for him. Trying to catch the eye of a cute guy at a coffee shop, running into a post with a hot cup of coffee in my hand, and getting first-degree burns on my chest instead.
Those are onlysomeof the highlights in the catalog of awkward or embarrassing things that have happened to me over the past decade. But nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, willevertop sitting next to my one-night stand at the post-wedding dinner for our parents.
“So, when are you officially headed back to work?” Max asks Danny, seemingly trying to steer the conversation into familiar territory given that every time anyone asks him something, Danny responds with clipped, one-word answers.
His hand flexes open and his fingers splay wide on top of his beige linen trousers beneath the table. We’re seated so close our knees would be touching if I hadn’t crossed my legs to prevent it.
“I’ll catch you up later,” Danny says, and my gaze flits up to his face. I’m surprised that he didn’t respond with “yes” or “no” given the stilted conversation thus far. His casual tone reminds me so much more of the man I got to know last night than this rigid and unengaged person I’ve sat next to for the past fifteen minutes. “Morgan and I chatted for a bit at the bar last night,” he continues. Heat rises on my neck and spreads up to my cheeks as he says my name. “I don’t want to bore her by repeating myself.”
He glances at me then, and our eyes lock before his gaze slips down my face and to my quickly reddening neck. When he continues his perusal down toward my chest, the flush spreads.
I rest the elbow closest to him on the table, bringing my fist under my chin, to block his view. All I can think of right now is there’s not much of a difference between how he looked at me last night and how he’s looking at me right now—and I need to shut that down.
Stepbrother, I remind myself.
“Oh look, Max,” my mom says, excitement lacing her voice as she sets her menu down on the table, snapping our attention and focus back to her. “They have oysters on the half shell. Let’s get some! Morgan? Danny? Do you guys like oysters?”
“Not a fan,” Danny says.
I sigh. “I’m deathly allergic to shellfish... remember?”
“Oh my gosh, of course!” she says, and playfully bonks her forehead with her palm as if we didn’t have this conversation at the engagement party before herlastwedding, when she’d given me an appetizer that included chopped clams and almost killed me. A shot of epinephrine and a trip to the emergency room were not how I planned to spend that evening. “Well, no oysters for you then!”
I focus on relaxing my shoulders because I can tell I’ve tensed up at the memory of those events... which I obviously can’t share with our present company.
“Should we even get oysters if Morgan’s allergic?” Danny asks, concern lacing his tone.
“Well, we’re not going to force feed them to her,” my mom says with a giggle that borders on maniacal—a sure sign she’s uncomfortable. Mom does not like being called out like this, no matter how kindly. “You’re fine withotherpeople eating them, right, honey?”
