“I’m going to turn on some background noise.” I slide off the bed and grab my tablet from the dresser.
A moment later, Issues by Julia Michaels strums through the bedroom.
“You know them, Bree.” I move to the full-length mirror on the wall beside the closet door and flatten a hand against the glass. “We’re not talking about your everyday, passive men here. They’re overbearing, jealous, growly cave-grunters who don’t share their toys.”
“You’re not a toy,” she says harshly.
Cole used to call me his dirty little fuck doll, and it turned me on like nothing else. But I’ll keep that tidbit to myself.
“Figure of speech. You know what I mean.” The crisp plucky notes of the song snap through me, gripping my hips and hooking me into the rhythm. “I’m not going to string them along.”
“You didn’t put yourself in this position.” She blows out a breath. “Cole did this.”
Trace played a part as well, but she doesn’t know that. It’s something I’ll have to keep in consideration if she starts rallying for Trace, which is likely since she was never a Cole fan.
Examining my form in the mirror, I ripple my core, sending vibrating waves of motion to my ribcage and pelvis. As the melody races up and down the scale, I hold my hand against the glass and twitch my hips to the contrasting beats, as if dancing with my reflection.
“You need time,” she says. “Am I right?”
“That’s exactly what I need. I feel so blindsided by this I’ve been walking in a fog for the past week.” I sway my head through the song’s haunting chorus. “This is a for-the-rest-of-my-life kind of decision, you know? But how long can I drag it out before it becomes a pathetic excuse for procrastination?”
“For however long it takes. They love you. They wouldn’t be there if they didn’t. So they’ll wait for you. They’ll wait indefinitely, while you figure out which one deserves you the most. Meanwhile, you need to spend time with them. Get to know them on every level under the sun and…under the covers—”
“Bree—”
“Enjoy yourself. Enjoy them. Let it evolve naturally, organically. As you spend time with each of them, you’ll gravitate toward one more than the other.”
“What if I don’t?” I splay my fingers over the reflection of my face as the song slows.
“What if you do? Think of it like one of those online dating sites. Except you don’t have an algorithm narrowing down the choices. You already know your top two picks. You don’t have to weed through hundreds of overinflated profiles or go on dozens of painful dates. You’ve vetted two candidates, and you know you’re matched in every way.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” I prowl backward, away from the mirror, exaggerating the flex of my legs with the low bass drop and breathy vocals.
“Whatever you do, make sure you’re doing it for you.” Bree hardens her tone. “I’ll be severely disappointed if you’re not one-hundred-percent selfish about this.”
“Wow. Aren’t you full of well-meaning advice?”
“It’s my job as the smarter, prettier sister. Your job is to listen to me.”
I roll my eyes. Her grade-school-teacher-ness is shining through. It makes her forget she’s eighteen months younger than me.
“I’m hanging up now.” A smile teases through my voice.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I end the call and turn my attention to the intermittent rhythm of Issues, moving with the beat, starting and stopping. It’s a flow and a snap, a ripple and a crash. I stretch up, up, up, and let my limbs tumble down, as if I’m tied to puppet strings that are tightening and slackening.
The lyrics are so angsty I feel every word, from the curl of my fingers to the flick of my head. My skinny jeans restrict the energy that vibrates to let loose, but as the music melts through me, I’m possessed by it, swaying and jerking to the tempo that circulates through my blood and dominates my muscles.
My hands rove over my body, caressing each joint and encouraging every deep bend. By the time the song ends, I’m breathing lighter. My insides feel softer, and there’s a warmth in my core that wasn’t there before. A peace that connects me to life. And love.
Five minutes later, I stand in the living room with my arms at my sides and a steady flow of confidence in my veins.
Trace and Cole settle into opposite corners of the couch, both fully dressed. Trace, with his face now shaved and hair slicked back and textured. Cole, in a white t-shirt and jeans, with whiskers darkening his cheeks and raw intensity in his eyes.