“Ew again,” Iris said.
She sat on a workbench in Owen’s storage unit, combat boots swinging under a schoolgirl-style plaid skirt. Seb prowled the space restlessly. He picked up a wrench from the toolbox and examined it before dropping it back in with a clang.
I’d been here for hours, working to finish the nitrous oxide injection install. Between Flynn’s visit, classes, and lab work I was already late on, I’d been behind schedule.
When Iris and Seb heard why I couldn’t meet up for dinner, they’d brought the pizza to me. By then, I was done except forsome cleanup, but I was happy to kick back and feed the gnawing hole in my stomach.
I smirked. “At least I have a good reason to be eating pineapple these days.”
Iris chuckled. “Good for you, boo.”
This time, Sebastian was the one to grimace. Probably remembering the moment he returned to a room that smelled like sex last Friday.
“Wait, who’s Nova?” he asked. “I thought you were gay.”
“I am. She’s my girlfriend from high school.”
“Wait, what?”
He looked adorably confused, his forehead all creased. I glanced at Iris. “You want to explain this one to him?”
She grinned sharply. “Seb, honey, dear sweet child. Not everyone knows their sexuality immediately. Or sometimes, they do, but they’re not ready to share it with the world. Sometimes, they date someone of the opposite sex because it’s expected or because it’s easier than explaining why they won’t. There’s many, many reasons Bailey might have dated Nova.”
“She mostly knew it wasn’t real,” I said. “It was convenient for both of us, and we were best friends anyway, so…” I shrugged. “If I could have loved that girl, I would have. She had great taste in pizza.”
“You keep in touch with her?” Iris asked.
“We text and stuff, but we’re both in school. She’s nearly done with an associate’s degree in Riverton, and next year, she’s transferring to Mizzou, so we don’t see each other a lot.”
“Too bad,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I miss her. Miss everyone from back home.”
“I don’t,” Iris said. “I couldn’t wait to escape my mother. She was always hovering, wanting to know everything I did every minute.”
“You had parents who loved you,” I said.
“Yeah, I’m a privileged brat,” she said with a guilty expression.
I’d told her about my upbringing, so she knew my mom—a high school girl who had a baby at sixteen—had tried to raise me but given it up as a bad job while I was still in diapers. She’d dumped me into the system, and I got placed with the Forresters.
I’d tried to track her down when I was eighteen. Found out she’d married a rich guy, moved to California, and popped out three more kids. She’d never thought I was worth coming back for, so I’d let go of my childish fantasy that my mother had wanted me and just couldn’t find a way to be there for me.
Maybe she thought giving me up was for the best, but she hadn’t looked back. If she’d made that decision when I was a newborn, I’d have been adopted easily. But as a toddler, I went into foster care instead. It probably didn’t help that I was a little hellion for a while, acting out because I didn’t understand where my mom had gone.
I got lucky, really. My foster mom was great, and she showered me with love. She endured my tantrums and stayed patient until I began to forget the woman who’d left me behind.
The Forresters were the only parents I knew, and my foster bros were the only family I needed.
I checked my phone, but I had no new notifications after letting Owen know I’d finished the job. “I guess we can go. Owen hasn’t hit me back.”
“I don’t get why you’re helping this asshole,” Seb burst out. “He tried to jump us.”
I wiped my hands on a napkin. I’d washed them before eating, but I didn’t have the industrial cleaner we had at home, so grease still stained my nails.
“My helping him is what convinced the guy not to jump us.”
“Sure, the first time,” Seb said. “But not now. So what’s your deal? I know it can’t be a crush because you’ve got that giant badass for a boyfriend.”
