A dumpster and half a parking lot. Truly inspiring. How was your day?
King:
Productive. I thought about you a lot.
There’s a pause. Her typing bubbles appear, then disappear, then reappear. She’s overthinking it. My smile widens.
“You’re doing it again with the face,” Jax says, toweling off beside me.
“What face?”
“The ‘I’m texting a girl and pretending I’m not’ face.” He pulls out a clean shirt, shaking his head. “Ask her out already.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It always is with you.” He grabs his bag. “Complicated usually means you care. Just don’t screw it up this time.”
He leaves, and I wonder if Jax is right. If I care.
By the time I get to the film room, all I think is the woman I’ve been texting is about to become a permanent fixture in my life. And she still has no idea I’m the guy from the therapy room.
This is either the best opportunity I’ve ever had or the biggest mistake I’m about to make.
***
My penthouse smells like something died, when I walk in hours later. The shrill sound of the smoke alarm echoes through the house.
Somewhere inside, Rowan is saying, “No, there’s no fire in the house. It’s just my sister cooking.”
He’s stopping the fire service from coming over.
“Riley!” I drop my keys on the counter and follow the smoke to the kitchen, where my baby sister has declared war on the stove. “What are you doing?”
“Cooking.” She beams at me through a cloud of smoke, her t-shirt and cutoff jeans shorts covered in what I hope is flour. “Or attempting to. Turns out recipes are more like guidelines than actual rules.”
“You burned my kitchen.”
“I’m cooking for you.” She waves a wooden spoon at me. “When was the last time you ate real food? And don’t say protein shake.”
“Yesterday.”
“Liar.” she says, shaking her head. “Have you ever used this stove? It needs the exercise.”
“What did I say about invading my kitchen?”
“You said don’t.” Her lips stretch into a grin. “Which is why I’m doing it.”
Rowan, her twin, walks out from my bedroom, looking annoyed in his work clothes. His hands are behind his back. I eye him.
“What did you take from my room?”
“I told Riley to order takeout,” he says, ignoring my question.
“And I told him that our brother needs actual nutrition,” Riley counters. She throws a grape at him. It misses and rolls under the stove. She pokes at something charred beyond recognition. “You can’t survive on supplements and takeout forever, Dec.”
“I’m your older brother. I figured out survival before you.”
She turns those sharp green eyes on me, the same shade as mine and Rowan’s.
