“You boys know better than to make me repeat myself. I’ll whoop both y’all’s asses up, keep it up,” Mama Jewel warns, wagging a finger at both of them as if she’s setting rules for the entire planet.
I can’t help it, I chuckle. The timing is perfect. Calvin had literally just punished me not long ago, and now his mother is brandishing the same kind of threat at him. The irony lands hard, and for a few seconds, everything in the room feels disarmingly, wonderfully ordinary.
“Oh, that’s funny, huh?” Calvin teases, trying to look stern but failing to suppress his grin.
“Just a little,” I admit, still laughing.
“You just wait…” he warns, but before he can continue, Mama Jewel jumps in to defend me.
“Don’t you threaten her. She can laugh all she wants,” she says, throwing Calvin a sharp look while giving me a warm, protective smile.
“Mother,” Calvin protests weakly.
“Hush now, let me get to know Blair,” she insists, turning her full attention back to me. I can’t resist sticking my tongue out at Calvin, feeling surprisingly at ease and truly welcomed.
“Blair, Blair, Blair. You know, you remind me of someone I know. Her name is Abigail. Do you maybe know her too?” Desmond’s voice cuts through the comfortable chatter, and I grit my teeth. I know my brother well enough to understand he’s not trying to be mean, but I still want to punch him for bringing Abigail up, especially in front of our mother.
But I can’t. One, because our mother is sitting at the table with us. And two, because unlike Justin, Kingsley, and me, who box for exercise and stress relief, Desmond actually fights. Illegal underground matches in New York, no less. During the day, he’s a renowned chef and businessman; at night, he’s out brawling. I’d get knocked out if I tried to go toe-to-toe with him.
I glance at Blair, and she looks back at me as if asking for permission to be honest. I discreetly squeeze her thigh under the table, letting her know it’s okay to tell the truth. My chest tightens with the realization that, somehow, this woman hasgotten under my skin. What started as something I thought would purely be physical, something I could easily get over once I had her, has turned into something deeper. I’ve had her a few times now, yet I crave more. She’s in my bloodstream, whether I want to admit it or not.
I’m not ready to name it yet, but I know. I knew when I couldn’t stop myself from telling my mom about her.
Desmond knows all about Abigail. He doesn’t agree with my marrying her just to fulfill some childhood promise. But it’s easy for him to say that. He had one dream, and he fulfilled it; he’s opened the most sought-after restaurants in Boston, Chicago, Vegas, and now he’s working on opening another in New York.
Blair clears her throat, her cheeks flushed bright pink. I should’ve known bringing her here would confuse her and make things harder for her. I should let her go, give her the freedom to escape this twisted situation. But I’m selfish. I need her close.
“She’s my sister, actually,” Blair says quietly, her gaze dropping to her plate.
Desmond’s brows lift in mock disbelief as his gaze flicks toward me. “You don’t say.”
Of course he knows who she is; he was there when I got the results from the background check I ran on Abigail. What he doesn’t know is what Blair’s come to mean to me.
Hell, I don’t even know what she means to me. Not fully.
All I know is that I want her. Not just in the obvious, skin-on-skin way. I want her in every way a mancanwant someone.
I want to learn her favorite songs. I want to hear the way she laughs when she thinks no one’s listening. I want to take her out on real dates, the kind she’ll remember years from now and smile about.
I want to let her paint my nails pink if that’s what makes her eyes light up. I want the quiet mornings, the late-night rambling, the chaos, the mess. I want the storms and the sunshine.
I want to be the one who holds her when she’s tired. The one she vents to when the world’s too loud. The one who reminds her, every damn day, that she’s already more than enough.
And if she asked me to, I’d let her paint my whole world pink, just to prove I belong in hers.
I’m so fucking fucked.
“How many siblings do you have?” Mom asks, gently steering the conversation back on track.
I’m grateful. She’s been asking Blair about her family and school, easy questions with a peaceful rhythm… until Desmond decided he wanted to be an assistant.
“I only have one older sister, Abigail…” Blair starts, her voice exuding warmth as she talks about her sister.
But I’m no longer listening.
My attention shifts to Desmond. We lock eyes, and it’s clear we need to talk.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Blair’s head.
