“Aw crap.” She takes another sip of the strawberry daiquiri Holt gifted her. I, myself, refused the libation, albeit the one he offered me was a virgin. Anyway I’ve been in one serious fucking mood ever since the incident and don’t care to imbibe a damn thing. “I got a paper in here somewhere with it all written down.” She thumbs through the shoebox marked ‘portant stuff.
My phone buzzes, and I pluck it out while I wait. It’s a text from my favorite boss.
What’s up?
I text back. Helping my sister with some paperwork. At the Black Bear. In a funk.
Not sure why I added that last part, most likely because Wyatt has been such a good friend. I wonder if we were in a serious relationship if I would have confided that or just stuck my chin up and pretended everything was fine?
Stop funking around. Let me pick you up. I know just how to cheer you up.
A smile springs to my lips, first one in hours. Come quick, I start to text then delete it. I’d hate for it to be mistaken as an innuendo. Quite frankly I’m not in the mood for any of those right now either. I’d love some cheering up. See you soon. I hit send and lean back to find Jemma studying me with a stern look.
“Lover boy strikes again?” She raises her glass as if toasting him, although there’s something in her eyes that reads trouble.
“Yes, well, he’s sort of a lucky strike in general. He’ll be here soon, so we have to hurry.” I get right back to business before Jemma gets schnockered and tries to snag Wyatt as her own “lover boy” once again. I still get chills when I think of their first unfortunate encounter.
Sure enough, Jemma does have all of her children’s names, birthdates, and shockingly birth weights written neatly on a worn piece of paper. There’s not a hurdle too high that the government can provide that Jemma isn’t ready to clear. If Uncle Sam thinks he’s going to save a few bucks by denying her a single state benefit he’d better think again. Jemma has prepped harder for this dole out application than she did the SATs. In that sense you might say Jemma was simply planning ahead.
“So things getting pretty serious with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dimples? You drop your knickers yet?”
Knickers? I close my eyes a moment.
“You’re my sister. I don’t even want you to think about my knickers.”
“Just curious, you know—what’s he got in the bottom drawer. You got some of those naughty pictures?” She makes a grab for my phone, and I inch it out of her range. “I’d love to know what kind of equipment that boy is hauling around.”
“No, I don’t have any naughty pictures.” I’d laugh if I weren’t busy choking.
Izzy pops up and joins us. “What did I miss?” She looks from Jem to me.
“She wants all the dirty deets, but I’m not divulging a single naughty picture—so there’s that.”
Izzy makes a face. “Believe me if there’s a naughty picture of Wyatt, I don’t want to see it. These eyes are for my man only.” She clicks her nails over the table as if calling court to order. “What’s this I hear about the big blowout on campus?” Izzy lifts a brow. Sometimes it feels as if I have two older sisters. Izzy, of course, being the only technical grown-up in the equation. I give Jem an apologetic glance. “Baya told me all about it.”
“No. No blowout.” I shake my head frenetically because Izzy is about to open a can of William worms. Jemma has always warned me about Cat Alice, and, being my stubborn self, I refused to listen.
“What’s this big blowout about?” Jemma has that look that says there’s no way in hell she’s letting this one go.
“Look”—I glance over my shoulder for signs of Wyatt—“it was stupid. I caught Cat Alice making out with Will and flipped out. You were right. They were doing the nasty the entire time I was with that fool. End of story.” I sink my nose back to the grindstone and start whipping through the government landmine of information vomit.
“Hold on just a minute, pretty little sis.” Jemma carefully extracts the pen from my hand. “You mean to tell me you had a shit storm hit this afternoon, and you weren’t going to say nothin’? I thought we were close.”
Jemma’s eyes glisten with moisture, but it’s clear she’s pretty pissed. I can’t tell if she’s about to cry or take a swing at me—probably both.
“I know the words you’re looking for, and I said them. You were right. I was wrong. I swear I’ll listen to you from now on.” I hold up a hand like I’m taking an oath. And, surprisingly, it only mildly alarms me that I’ve just agreed to take my sister’s advice regarding future matters.