“Your dad is pretty good at rugby, but man, Kaia out there, she was so cool tonight,” Rhea says, and I scowl. “You should have seen it, everyone was covered in neon paint.”
“Like glow bowling?” Daisy asks.
“Exactly, and the Hillcats won so…” Rhea whispers.
I check on the bacon, shaking my head at their conversation, but find myself watching the process and wishing that I were the person Daisy asked when she needs her hair braided. Almost jealous of how easily Rhea manages it. I can’t really hear what they’re saying, but Daisy smiles up at her and hands her an earbud. Rhea’s face scrunches up for a second, and her head turns to the side as she listens, but something surprises her, and she shakes her head in disbelief before handing the headphone back.
Daisy thanks her for doing her hair and wanders from the kitchen to get ready for school before breakfast. Rhea finds a spot at the island while I make toast. I get everything together, turning to give her a cup of coffee, only to see her with her head against the countertop, fast asleep. I set my mug down and stare at her for a second.
Friends would make sure their friends are comfortable… and not sleeping in dangerous positions? Right?
I move around the island, still at war with my own thoughts, and scoop her up against my chest. I don’t move her far, but the feeling of her sleepy, weightless body against mine sends those unfamiliar sparks of possession through me. My skin practically cries out for her as I lay her on the couch and move away from her. I cover her with a blanket and stare down at her, still completely out of it.
Just. Friends.
“I’m not sure.” I hold a sundress up from my closet for Sunday and Daisy to judge. Both of them shake their heads, and it’s funny because they look so much alike at that moment.
“Where did you even get that?” Sunday scowls.
“What’s wrong with it?” I look down and hold it up to my shoulders.
“Rhea. It’s yellow.”
I look at the soft striped yellow and laugh. “Maybe my mom bought it?” I say, also confused.
“Who is this guy anyway?” Sunday asks, shooing me aside to raid my wardrobe.
“Miles Tenley,” I say as she hands me a dark burgundy top and continues to dig. “He works over at the station with Kaia.”
“Oh—the brunet with the pretty hazel eyes.” Sunday pulls my black denim jacket off the hanger. “Go casual, he’s probably just going to drive you across the city to a different bar.”
“True,” I say.
“Daisy, go get your stuff so I can take you to your mom’s.” Sunday looks over at her niece, who barely hears her with headphones in but nods and disappears. “Is this a take-all-my-clothes-off date or a serious, get-to-know-you date?”
“Get-to-know-you.” I pull off the dirty shirt I’m wearing and pull on the low-cut one that Sunday handed me. It hugs my stomach and looks nice under the leather jacket.
“Boring,” she says, smiling anyway. “If you need anything, call. I don’t trust any of those firefighters,” she winks.
“Kaia vouched for him, but honestly, I think she vouched for a quick fuck, so…” I laugh and shake out my hair so it’s less stiff. “The last three guys were dicks,” I sigh, tugging my jacket straight.
“The only men I trust are my brothers,” Sunday says, dead serious.
“How hard is it for a guy to be a decent human being?” I ask, and she snorts in disbelief.
“These?” Sunday holds up a pair of boots that would make me four inches taller, and I shake my head. The last thing I need is to be taller than the guy on the first date; that’s asking for a disaster. “You know the rules: if he doesn’t pass the vibe check, you get the hell out of there. I give you full permission to fake a medical emergency on my behalf,” she presses her hand to her chest and gives me the sweetest smile.
“Oh yeah, so here’s the thing… You eat your burger weird, and oh my god, wow, my best friend just collapsed…I have to go!” I mock panic, and she hands me a pair of sneakers that are flat in absolute despair and laughter. “Thank you,” I say, and she steps back like she’s styled a mannequin.
My phone rings on the bed.
“That’s him. I should go.” I give her a peck on the cheek and shove my phone into my pocket.
“Debrief later,” she warns as I head toward the front door.
“Where are you going?” Brighton asks from the kitchen, eyes flicking between us.
“Reaper’s got a date,” Sunday says, leaning on the doorframe and waving me out. I clock the stern look on Brighton’s face, but he doesn’t say a word as I open it and leave. Miles is waiting in his truck, and the first red flag is that he doesn’t even look up when I open the passenger door myself.
