Is it wrong that I let everyone assume I am allergic to responsibility and monogamy? Maybe. But I’ve yet to meet anyone who makes me want to turn in my man card.
As I climb into my truck, my phone rings and Maeve’s name pops up on the caller ID.
I set the phone on the middle console before I start the engine and hit the speaker button.
“Hey, Maeve.”
“Hey, baby bro,” my sister says. “Did you get the firewood delivered?”
“Oh, yeah. Took care of that earlier.”
“Okay. Good.” She sounds stressed, her words racing through the line. “I didn’t expect them to arrive until later this afternoon, and who burns a fire in the middle of July? Can you imagine? Hopefully, they didn’t give you any trouble.”
“It’s all good.” I don’t tell her they were mad. Or that I accidentally double-booked the rental. “You know me. I turned on my charm.”
“Must be nice, getting everything you want.”
“It’s my superpower.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says as one of my nieces or nephews wails in the background. My sister has her hands full with four children, all under the age of eight. I honestly don’t know how she does it.
“If they ask for anything else, just let me know,” I offer. “It’s just down the road. I don’t mind.”
“Thank you.” She sighs. “I appreciate you helping out. It’s just a lot lately, new baby and all.”
“Yeah, maybe you should slow the presses. Give your uterus a break. It’s not a contest, you know?”
I can picture her smile through the line. “Probably the only contest I’d win in this family.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
I probably shouldn’t even ask, but having some background information might help me better navigate this week with my temporary roomie. The fact it might also aid in getting her to sleep with me again is just a bonus.
“What’s Rosalie’s deal?”
“No.” Maeve’s tone is harsh. “Absolutely not.”
“What?” I laugh.
“Jackson, I love you, you know that, but please,please, stay far away from my friends.”
“Ouch.” What does she expect me to do? I’m not a monster.
“Look, Rosalie is not for you. She’s a mom. Edward is her entire world. If she dates anyone, she needs someone who can step up. Who can commit. Not that she’d ever give you the time of day.”
“Damn.” Didn’t realize my sister thought so lowly of me.
“It’s not personal. You’re just not her type.”
“What is her type?”
“Fictional men.”
“Very funny,” I deadpan.
“I’m not joking. She reads more than anyone I’ve ever met, and she goes on about characters like they’re real. Which, hell, I get it. Book boyfriends set the bar.”
