“I have a black eye, but I also have a police report where I filed charges against her. Does that help?”
“Not really. But when I bury her digitally, I’ll be less pissed.”
Mom walks outside and uses her good hand to start waving me in. When I don’t move fast enough, she starts walking my way.
“Liam, my mom is coming. I won’t be able to call you tomorrow but my flight arrives at two-fifty. Can I bother you for a ride?”
The silence is deafening, all except that constant vibration that’s very near the phone.
“It’s not a bother, Lolo.” There’s humor in his voice.
“William.” I say sternly just as Mom opens Strider’s car door.
“What are you doing out here, Lorien? Everyone’s waiting on you. And you promised we’d bake.”
“I’ll be right there.”
She doesn’t move, though. She just stares expectantly.
“I, uh. I have to go, but I appreciate you calling.”
“You appreciate it, huh?” His voice drops to melted chocolate. “Well, I’m happy to oblige.” I swear he’s not referring to calling me.
46
whiskey balls
Lorien
“Well, who was that?” Mom asks as I exit the car. She gestures toward Strider’s truck, remembering too late her arm doesn’t do what she wants. She groans a bit and glowers at her wrist.
“Are you okay?” I round the hood and wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“No. I’m annoyed and hurting. You have a black eye, and I only have twenty-four hours left with you. For heaven’s sake, your sister is married,” she stresses the last word. “We have things to do, and you avoided my question.”
“The brewery downtown. They were checking on me after last night. Now let’s go bake. Tell me about this new lemon recipe you found.” I’m straight up lying to my own mom and then diverted. I didn’t do that as a teenager.
“They’re round shortbread cookies with a whipped filling—like lemon curd, but airier—dolloped in the center.”
“That sounds delicious.” Another lie. What is going on with me?
I blame the sex.
And my sexy neighbor growling.
And Sam for deciding she needed a husband on what’s becoming one of the most stressful weekends of my life.
Sure… blame your sister. That’s rich. You have a husband, too, and you’ve omitted that all weekend long. At least Sam is owning her truth.
“Well?” Strider asks when we walk through the door. Mom looks between the two of us and wanders toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath about my call with the bar’s management.
My brother quirks his brows and shakes his head like he’s disappointed in me, but the grin on his face indicates something different. “Tsk tsk, little sister. Look at you lying to our poor mother. Over a man.”
I put my hand over his mouth. “Hush. Do not say a word. I’m trusting you with this.”
He laughs as he pulls out of my grasp. “Oh, Mom.”
“Strider,” I call running after him. “Strider!”
