T aking the last corner too hard, I screech into the parkade of my building. I'm still stewing over Declan's words. That's not new. I obsess over anything he says to me. He talks to me normally when we're all in a group. He's even nice. But get him alone, and he clams up...usually.
But today? I've never felt small that way. Not physically, but like my life has been judged … immature. He basically told me to grow up.
It's a tough pill to swallow.
When he spoke to me, I was so thrilled. Until I actually processed what he said. The talking was new, but I wish he'd kept his mouth shut, so I could continue to dream that he was in love with me too.
A horn blares beside me, and I flinch, fumbling my purse, the contents flying into the air. A tampon lands in my hair. Looking over, I'm not at all surprised to see Bree sitting in her old Jeep, laughing her ass off. I shoot her the finger, hiding my smile, and climb out of my car. That's the one downside of being tall with a significant ass. You have to actually climb out of a sports car like mine. It's a trade-off I'm willing to make, though. The car is hot and totally my style.
It could be worse. I could be as tall as Declan. And there I go again, thinking about Declan and the stretch and flex of his muscles as he exits his luxury car.
Bree strolls around the car, meeting me in the middle. We are so different in so many ways, but anyone looking at us would know in a heartbeat we're sisters. Same blonde hair, same blue eyes, same thick bodies. But where I dress to impress in leather and lace and uncomfortable shoes, she lives in sneakers and track pants. She spends maybe ten minutes getting ready in the morning.
I can't decide if I'm jealous of her natural look or just of the extra hour she gets to sleep each day.
It's really the sleep.
I love dressing the way I do. It used to be for other people, but now, it's just for me. Ok, and maybe, in my heart, I really want Declan to like it too. And judging by the tightening of his pants when I'm around, he does.
Difficult, contrary man.
"Stop mooning over that man and get your ass inside. I'm starving."
Bree's voice cuts through the chaos in my head.
"I'm not in charge of meals anymore, smartass. No one's stopping you from cooking your own supper."
I know it's coming. We've had a decade together in close quarters, and I know her better than anyone in the world. But it still hits me in the gut when she rolls her lip out into a pout.
"Please, Care Bear. Please? Can you make your spaghetti?"
I heave a sigh. I am way too easy to manipulate. But secretly, I love that she's here with me instead of asshole Tyler's house. I don't see her nearly enough, and I miss her. A lot.
As I putter around our ancient kitchen, I sip a Corona and listen to Bree ramble about her day with one ear. When the words 'cock' and 'face' penetrate, I choke on my beer.
Coughing, I pin her with a glare. "What the fuck did you just say?"
She leans back at the tiny two-top table in the corner of the kitchen, giggling. That table has seen so much. We picked it up on the side of the road one night, and it's been with us ever since. We've had blowout fights at that table. There’ve been tears and so much laughter.
This place was all I could afford when we moved in here a decade ago, and it's tiny and run down, just like that table. There's no good reason we're still here except we're comfy. And busy. And we're saving a ton of money.
Ok, so there are lots of good reasons.
"I said...I was working on his leg mobility, and every time I pressed his leg into his chest, his cock was right in my face. I mean, I didn't get an in-the-flesh look, but what I did see was impressive."
"Who is this guy?"
"Just a guy with an ACL injury. He plays football, I think."
"You think? Did you ask him? He sounds hot." And he's got to be better than her loser boyfriend.
"He is. But no, I didn't ask."
I shoot her a look, but she doesn't rise to the bait. She never does. The raging, hormonal, emotionally damaged teenager that moved into this place with me is gone. In her place is a messy, loving, professional woman.
"I'm really proud of you," I mumble, blinking furiously, taking a sip of beer to wet my dry throat. No need to get emotional here.
She smiles, shaking her head gently, eyes warm. "I know. I'm really proud of you, too, Care Bear. We've come a long way. I mean, look at us, the Davis sisters, kicking ass and taking names."
