“I cannot believe you’re here! Did you really drive all night?”
“Jonah did.”
She tilts her head and stares at me.
“What?”
She marches through the room until she’s standing in front of the bed. The only bed in the room. The bed Jonah is currently stretched out on, his gorgeous body barely hidden by the sheet.
Her head swivels back to me. “Lucy, you got some ’splainin’ to do.”
“Frankie,” I start, although I have no idea what I’m going to say. And she’s already throwing outI Love Lucyreferences. It can only go downhill from here.
She holds up a finger to stop me and points at the bed. “This is Jonah?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Bu bu bu…” She waggles her finger. “Just to clarify. He’s your stepbrother?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
“The one you hate?”
Glancing first at Jonah to make sure he’s not awake and listening to all this crap, I grab her arm and pull her into the alcove. “Hated. Past tense. I was completely wrong about him.”
“Uh-huh.” She tilts her body to look at Jonah. Is she checking to see if he’s awake or watching him sleep?
I jerk her arm. “Eyes in here.”
She smirks. “You never mentioned your brother was hot.”
“Stop it.”
Her eyes are way too perceptive. That’s what happens when you’ve known someone your entire life. “So, what’s going on here, Vivie?”
I don’t want to lie to her, but I also think if I’m going to confess to being in love with Jonah, he should be the first to hear it. But I have to give her something. “I…like him. A lot.”
“Like, a lot, a lot?”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Fine. But on a scale from Brangelina?—”
“They’re not even together anymore.”
“Exactly.” She gives me a pointed look. “Stop interrupting. On a scale with Brangelina being the lowest and Taylor Swift and her football Daddy being the highest, where would you and your step?—”
“Just call him Jonah.”
“Testy. Where would you and Jonah be?”
I stare at her and shake my head. “I can’t even process this.”
Her face scrunches. “That bad?”
“No, Frankie. Jonah is amazing, okay? He drove all night to get me here.”
She shifts her head back and forth like she’s weighing the options or playing a song in her head. And honestly, it could be either one at this point. “Either he’s mad about you—in a good way—or he’s ready to be rid of you. Not in an offing-you way,” she says to clarify. “More in a, you know, getting-you-out-of-Nebraska-and-his-life way.”
