It feels real.
I finish with the spare before putting away all the tools and loading her flat tire. When my hands settle on the closed trunk, I pause. There’s a reputable auto shop nearby that she should know about, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is…
“Do you remember a house party in San Diego?”
Alex blinks, stunned for a split second before recovering smoothly. “I already told you we were done with the questions.”
So shedoesremember. She just doesn’t want to talk about it.
Interesting.
I nod, stepping aside so she can slide into the driver’s seat. Once the engine is running and the windows are down, I pat the roof twice.
“See you tomorrow.”
Her face pulls into a grimace. “Unfortunately.”
Another surprised laugh escapes me before Alex pauses. “Thank you for fixing my tire.”
“And saving your life,” I say with a teasing smile.
I catch the exact second her lips quirk before she pushes them into a flat line.
“And keeping me from a costly hospital bill.”
“Don’t forget the weeks of excruciating, debilitating pain.”
Her brows tweak in mock exasperation. “Are you always like this?”
“No.” My smile is gargantuan. “Usually, I’mworse.”
Alex rolls her eyes before driving away, leaving one single thought zipping through my mind like a loose electron.
Ican’t waitfor our next sparring match.
Chapter 5
Alex
Two weeks later, my sister, Amelia, video calls while I’m listening to my voiceover for B-roll of Tenny forcing out player after player at first. Does that breathless wonder filter in when I talk about Trevor Chapman or Rhett Wells?
No. No, it does not.
Come on, Stevens. Do better.
I delete the audio with an irritated stab of my finger before answering my sister’s call.
“Hey, Mil. How’s Mr. Demon today?”
The senior associate overseeing my sister’s first year at Watkins, Adams, and Kent is actually named Damon, but he acts more like a fork-tongued soul sucker than a human man—thus thenickname.
My sister pitches forward with a groan until all I can see is her forehead. “I don’t understand why he’s so terrible.”
“Probably because he’s a tiny dictator with a corner office.”
Amelia straightens with an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. It’s long and blonde, just like mine. When we were kids, we used to pretend we were twins, even though she’s eighteen months older than me. And then, when I grew taller than her and everyone thought I was the older sister, Amelia set them straight. She takes great pride in being the ‘eldest daughter.’
“He doesn’t sleep. I’m getting cc’d on emails at two a.m. that say, ‘Respond ASAP.’ Like, sir, some of us don’t want to voluntarily enter psychosis from sleep deprivation.” When she snorts at her own joke, a smile blooms on my lips. “I’m convinced he just powers down for twenty minutes like a laptop.”
