Pix is only here for a few more days. And I’ll make every second of them count. Make them special. No matter the cost.
Even a date with anteater tongue.
Flirting the way wildlife flirts.
“Perhaps we can go up?” I ask, because another minute of this and I’m pretty sure my pretzel is going to come back up.
She turns and leads the way. “You’ll have ten minutes.”
“I thought you said fifteen.”
“I did,” she says cheerfully. “But ten is the best I could manage. I’m not exactly high on the totem pole.”
Fantastic.
“I’m happy to show you around,” she adds as the elevator doors slide open.
I raise a hand. “I think we’ve got it from here.”
The doors slide shut as the lights dim. The ceiling flickers to life as the visual effects begin, steel and numbers racing overhead.
Pix grabs my arm, holding on with both hands, laughing as if she might lift right off the floor.
“Oh my God,” she squeaks. “How fast are we going?”
“As fast as it takes to climb a hundred floors in under a minute.”
The ride to the top takes sixty seconds. Sixty seconds I’d happily relive over and over again.
Pix deserves this. The smile. The laughter. The happiness.
Her life has been a constant tug-of-war. One mess stacked on top of the next. Everyone wanting something. Everyone taking.
Until she’s worn thin and frayed, convinced it’s just the cost of being adored.
For once, she deserves better.
Someone who’ll take care of her.
Who’s willing to give her everything she needs.
Someone like me.
Who said that?
I look at her. Big doe eyes. Soft mouth. That kiss. I want her badly enough to know letting go will hurt. And being this close wakes things in me I thought were gone for good.
I stamp it out like a brushfire.
No. Not me. It can’t be me.
She’s my best friend’s baby sister. And her life is a million miles away. In LA. And on sets scattered across the world.
My life is here. In New York. With my family. My kids. Their schools. Their friends.
What good is a wishbone if the only way it works is for part of it to break?
Her hand brushes mine, soft and accidental, and electricity skates up my arm. I ignore the impulse. The sudden urge to hold it.
