A few beats of nothing pass between us, Dad stroking a gentle hand through Blake’s dark hair.
“Leave it to me. I’ll have what you need in your checking account by the end of this week.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
EMMETT
Me
Morning, Mama.
Billie
We need to talk about this nickname …
Morning, BTW.
Me
Is it … a problem?
Billie
Only if you stop using it.
Me
I knew you’d like it. It fits you perfectly, given all you ever do these days is boss me around.
Billie
Hasn’t that alwaysbeen the case?
Me
True. Although that reminds me … Messi is still the better soccer player, FYI. Don’t think that I’ve let that debate die.
Billie
Ridiculous. Ronaldo proved himself in the Premier League—aka the best soccer league in the world.
Me
Oh, Billie. Twenty-one and legally old enough to drink, yet you still have so much to learn. Maybe you should come over to my place so we can watch a soccer game.
Billie
Just like old times. Should we invite my dad too?
Me
That would be a great idea … if my last text wasn’t an excuse to get you alone again.
Billie
Really? Wow. I’m slow on the uptake. What kind of alone time do you have in mind?
Sitting up in bed, I reach under the duvet, hand dipping beneath my boxer briefs.
