Page 6 of Tiger Lilies and Tight Ends

Of course she’s even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. Not that I didn’t think she was beautiful then, I’ve always thought she was, but now she’s older, and it’s different. And don’t get me started on that damn hair of hers, which is loosely tied up on top of her head with some of it having escaped and hanging by her face. I already know it has the power to bring me to my knees. This is not good. She cannot stay here. At least not for long. I need her in and out.

“Hi,” she says, her voice cutting through the air and pulling me from my inner meltdown. My eyes find hers, they’re so blue they’re almost turquoise, and they instantly remind me of the water along the shoreline. I hate that it’s my favorite color, and I hate that every time I look at her face, I’ll see it.

“Hi,” I answer back. I’m trying not to be rude, but I’m certain she hears the gruffness. I set my bag down on the floor, then my keys on the counter, and slowly move into the living room to take the seat across from her. I do my best not to look directly at her, but it’s really hard. It’s also really odd to see someone on my couch. In. My. Spot. My space is my space, so having her in it makes it feel like it’s shrinking.

“I know this isn’t what you were expecting today, but I want you to know I really appreciate the offer,” she says, eyes all big and doe-like. And if I’m reading her correctly, she’s nervous.

I lean back in the chair, cross one ankle over the opposite knee and my arms over my chest. I’m completely closed off, and I’m certain she can tell, but the truth is, I haven’t offered anything. Lance did. But just these couple of moments looking at her, I know I eventually would have. Lance isn’t wrong; she definitely needs a place to hide if she broke up with that ass of an ex-boyfriend. She is absolutely recognizable. There’s no blending into the crowd for her. Anyone who is a Dean Davis fan, which, unfortunately, too many people are, then they know her.

That irritation I originally felt bleeds away, and in its place, a protectiveness takes over.

“No problem. Can’t say I’m sorry to hear you finally got rid of that asshole.”

Her gaze drops to her hands, which are holding her phone in her lap, and her cheeks tint pink. I’m not sure if it’s because I embarrassed her or if she’s sad that I brought it up. Man, I hope she’s not sad. I didn’t even consider this. It’s one thing to have her here, but it’s another to have a heartbroken, weepy girl here too.

“Yeah, well, we can save that topic for another day,” she says, her eyes coming back to find mine. “I like your fish,” she says, catching me off guard.

I glance over my shoulder, and next to my boat, I look at my other pride and joy, my custom-built saltwater fish tank. And it’s not just any fish tank, it’s my kitchen island. The whole island. Yes, there’s ventilation on each end, but 90 percent of the top is covered with a large butcher block perfect for prepping food or seating four. The company I hired to build it was thrilled with the project, and since advertising mine, while keeping me anonymous, they’ve sold several more.

“Thanks, I kind of have a thing for fish.”

“I remember,” she says, which has my brain pausing. In so many ways, this girl is a stranger since I really don’t know anything about her, but at the same time, she’s not. Technically, I’ve known her since she was a teenager, still with acne and a baby face. “Lance told me you don’t do roommates, so again, I really appreciate it.”

“I don’t, but for him, I would do anything.”

And I would. She and I might not know each other that well, but considering the years and the friendship that Lance and I have, she should know that.

She lets out a deep sigh and shifts on the couch. She was toned the last time I saw her, but by her posture and the fit of her shirt, it’s easy to see she’s ramped up the exercising. Something I shouldn’t be noticing.

Lance’s little sister, I chant in my head.

Needs my help.

Roommate.

“Are there any rules you might have for me?” she asks, again pulling me from my thoughts. Suddenly, I’m thrown off. Should I have rules? Do others who have roommates have rules? This isn’t something I’ve ever considered. I’ve just chosen to be roommate-free, on purpose.

“Like what?” I ask her, my foot shaking, as this entire scenario puts me on edge.

Little sister. Rules. Roommate. In my space.

“I don’t know,” she says slowly. “Rooms you don’t want me to go into, foods you don’t want me to cook, things like that.”

“I, uh, I just found out about you being here a few minutes ago, so I haven’t really thought that through yet, but I’ll get back to you.” It’s the best answer I can give her.

Her eyes widen, and her jaw drops. “You didn’t know I was coming?”

“Nope.”

This time, not only do her cheeks turn from pink to red but so does her neck and her ears. “I’m going to kill Lance. I am so sorry. I can leave if you want me to. I have no problem going to a hotel. This was Lance’s idea, and while I did think it was a good one, I thought the two of you had at least talked about it. You know what? I can just go.” She points her thumb over her shoulder and unfolds her legs. Legs that are long, smooth, and perfect looking.

My stomach clenches, and if I wouldn’t look ridiculous, I’d punch myself in the face.

Lance’s little sister.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind.” Well, I actually do, but I’m not an ass, and I’ll figure something out. “There’s a bedroom down the hall over there. That’ll be yours.” I point toward the room on the right side that overlooks the front yard. It’s not large, but it’s big enough, and it’ll serve its purpose.

“Are you sure?” she asks, her words bordering on skeptical and embarrassed.