“I don’t?—”
“He definitely cares,” Jake says.
Sophie keeps her focus locked on me, her eyes twinkling with delight. “Do youlikelikeher?”
“Do Ilike likeher?” I fight a smile, deflecting from her actual question. “What am I, Soph? Six years old with a playground crush?”
My sister flushes, her pale skin turning a light shade of pink. She reaches over the variety of dips and spreads and smacks my arm. “You know what I mean, jerk. Would you go out with her again?”
“You should,” Jake pipes in. “Especially after Gigi’s latest stunt.”
Sophie darts a look at him, her eyes widening. “Oh. I didn’t realize you knew about the text. I was going to say something, but?—”
Confusion slams into me. “Wait, what? A text?”
“I thought…” She sinks her teeth into her lip, apprehensive. “What stunt are you talking about?”
I fire Jake a look that promises violence. Telling him about Gigi’s hotel room drop-by was my mistake, but I figured that’s what friends are for. They have each other’s back when an ex shows up in nothing but a trench coat and heels. I was wrong.
“Just an awkward run-in at the game,” I lie smoothly. “What areyoutalking about?”
Her shoulders rise to her ears like she’s a kid who’s just been caught with her hand in the candy jar. She averts her attention, studying the pita bread like it’s a piece of art rather than a round, beige carb.
“Soph,” I press, equal parts curious and wary.
She peers up at me through her blond lashes and grimaces. “Don’t get mad.”
I freeze, a spicy lamb meatball hovering on my fork in front of my mouth. A phrase like that doesn’t bode well for me. It’s the kind that comes right before a confession. Gigi used to wield it like a shield, a preemptive strike against accountability.Don’t get mad,but she made dinner plans for us after I specificallytold her I’d be wiped out from a game and wanted to relax.Don’t get mad,but we were invited to a restaurant opening and I RSVP’d yes for both of us, and no, the only gluten-free menu item is a house salad.Don’t get mad,but I booked a couple’s trip (with a couple I despise). It wasn’t a plea for understanding, but a trap.
But I’m not talking to Gigi. This is my sister.
“She texted me,” Soph blurts out, the words running together.
I chomp down on the meatball and chew way more aggressively than necessary for Adina’s tender cooking.
“What’d she want?” Jake inquires, his tone much softer than mine would have been.
“She, um, asked if I wanted to grab drinks or dinner now that she’s back in Boston,” Sophie continues, fiddling with the cloth napkin in her lap. “I ran into her at the game, and she mentioned it. I didn’t want to be rude and say no to her face, so I did the noncommittal ‘text me’ thing. I honestly didn’t think she still had my number, and even if she did, I figured she wouldn’t actually do it.”
I bury my face in my hands and groan. If I’m too confrontational, Sophie’s the opposite. Someone could spill coffee on her and she’d apologize for being in the way and then offer to buy them a new one.
“I said no, obviously,” she hurriedly adds. “Maya helped me write a response. Kennedy, too… sort of. Her suggestions were a little, um…” She presses her lips together, focus lowered to the table. “Aggressive.”
As if proving her point, she digs her phone out of her purse and thrusts it at me.
Sophie Davies
Help! Gigi texted me.
Kennedy Caplan
What does she want? Besides access to Cam’s pants.
Maya Silver
LOL.
Sophie Davies
