“Oh”— I take another sip of my latte—“He’s just the first of many. My goal is to hit twelve or thirteen before I lay it all out in black and white and have it bound as a hardback.”
“Baker’s dozen? That sounds like a nice place to land.” She grimaces in lieu of a smile like maybe it’s not. She checks her phone. “It’s three! Gotta run. Bryson’s whisking me away for a special V-Day vacay!”
I groan as she zips out the door. Baya and Bryson are another oddity in the love department.
Later in the evening, Annie talks me into going to the Black Bear, and that’s exactly where I find myself standing at the moment.
“Well, look who cupid dragged in?” Jemma pops up looking bedraggled as ever with an e-cigarette dripping from her mouth. Her hair is crimped in twelve different directions, and she had the good sense to smash an oversized glitter bow to the side of her head. I swear there’s a twelve-year-old girl out there somewhere wondering where the hell her hair accessory is at.
“Did you come to be my Valentine?” I pull her into a nice tight hug. Despite all her obvious crazy, I love my sister to pieces.
Izzy pops up by her side with her arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. I suppose if I had a fiancé, I wouldn’t want to let him out of my sight either. Will, the ass, comes to mind. Somehow I’ve managed to keep a secure distance between the two of us outside of our one class together. I should give lessons on the fine art of avoiding an annoying ex. He sent me a text saying We’re even! after I left him out in the cold literally. We’re even? Oh, honey, even isn’t on the horizon just yet.
“Are you kidding? I came to get my Valentine on.” Jemma slams her hip into mine. “Where are all the good looking men? You hoarding those for yourself?” Jemma sways on her platform glitter heels. If Jemma’s general attitude doesn’t say enough about her personality, her fashion pairings should explain it all. When I say Jemma has the style sense of a pre-teen, I’m not kidding. “Izzy says you’ve been seen a time or two with a real man wrapped around your body. Where is this beefcake, so I can size him up myself?”
Izzy shrinks into me and mouths the word sorry.
“No worries. And, no, we’re not seeing each other. Wyatt and I simply have a business relationship. He’s my boss.” I figure if I come at this pragmatically I’ll defuse the potentially sexually infused, and always embarrassing, fiasco that only Jemma can drum up.
“Nothing like a little overtime under the covers to work your way up the ladder!” Jemma does a little twirl cementing the fact she’s pickled, and, judging by the volatile odor stemming from her breath, I’m guessing her weapon of choice was whiskey.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” I say before turning to her partner in crime. “You taking her keys?”
“She never drove.” Izzy looks as unimpressed with Jemma as I am. “And, yes, I’m sending her home in a cab.”
“Oh, hon,” Jemma wags her finger in Izzy’s face. “This girl is finding her own ride home. Tall, dark, and handsome at six o’ clock. And judging by the bulge in his pants it’s going to be one hell of a ride.”
I follow her gaze to the entry where Wyatt stands talking to Blake and Annie. He’s tall, dark, and handsome for sure. Just the fact that Jemma and I reference him in the same manner confirms the fact there’s no denying his crushing good looks.
Wyatt nods this way, and I freeze.
A rush of embarrassment washes over me. A part of me doesn’t want him seeing Jemma like this. I want him to see and meet the Jemma I know, the bittersweet, caustically funny, sometimes witty, yet always supportive version. But, God knows, if given half a chance, she’ll try to beat me to the mattress with this one—sober or not. It’s not like I could blame her. Wyatt’s brand of naughty looks sort of warrants a familial war between sisters. Not that for a minute I think Wyatt would entertain the idea. He’s refined and genuinely caring. He’d most likely offer to drive her home, then tuck her into bed—alone. Maybe throw a snowball at her on the way out.
A secretive smile comes and goes from my lips.
A slow song bleats over the speakers, and my cells rearrange themselves until every last part of me is crying out to hold him.
Jemma waves her hand over my face. “Oh, hon, you’ve got it bad. You didn’t hear a word I said for the last five minutes.”
Izzy flags him down, and before I know it, Wyatt is on his way over with Annie while Blake takes the stage.
Oh, God. I swallow hard and give a nervous wave. Who cares if he thinks my sister is a lush. She is one. That dull ache in my stomach lets me know that I care, that’s who.