One of her perfect dark blonde brows quirk. “An innocent who didn’t bother to cover his junk.”
“You made good use staring at said ‘junk.’ And I think I was a good sport about it, considering you’re the pervert in this scenario. And yet, you didn’t return the favor or my sweatshirt.”
“What can I say? I had my hands full. Fascinating conversation, really, but I must be going.” She turns, and I grip her wrist. Her lips part as the zing runs through us both, and our eyes meet.
My eyes relay to hers.
Yeah, I felt it too.
“Want to pick this conversation up again sometime? Maybe when you return my hoodie?”
“Not happening.”
“Which part, the convo, returning the naked favor, or my sweatshirt?”
She battles a smile and loses. “More questions. I really need to go.”
“So, you’re going to give chase?”
“I hear you’re good at keeping up.”
A small amount of satisfaction settles in my gut. She knows I ran track, so the curiosity isn’t one-sided. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“It’s what good students do. This was fun, but I’ve really got to go,” she nudges past me, and I get a hit of her shampoo—a mix of floral and mint.
“Meet me at the coffee shop after your last class.”
She glances back at me. “What for?”
“Because you want to.”
Brenden nudges my shoulder, and I realize I’ve wasted a few gallons of water, the memory cloud dispersing as I stiffen next to him, dreading the conversation. “I was wondering why you stared at the family photo in my living room for so fucking long the day you picked it up.” Through the window, Whitney appears with a drink in hand on the deck, bundled up in reindeer pajamas, a coat, and ridiculously oversized elf slippers. She flips one of the chair covers to clear it of snow before taking a seat and propping her feet on the deck railing—the rounded tips of her slippers my focal point.
“I’m sure I know why you didn’t tell me since she clearly despises you, but seriously, man, I could have used a heads up. Especially now that I know it didn’t end well, which leads to my one and only question. Any plans of repeating that?”
I turn to Brenden. “None at all. Maybe a long overdue apology if she’ll hear one, which is doubtful, but I’m not here to cause any problems.”
“That’s all I need to know.”
I turn to him. “Why did she give up?”
“Give up on what, exactly?”
“All of it. When I knew her, she was full of scary ambitions. Wanted to be the female equivalent of Phil Spector, to a less murderous point.”
“She had student loans to pay off, so she took a desk job. She’s done well. She’s just not where she wants to be.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
“Look, I won’t hold your omission against you, but if you do hurt my sister again, I’m going to have to pull some big brother shit.”
“Noted.”
“I know you don’t drink much, but you’re going to have to veto that stance if you want to make it through this alive. Be a pal and help me go sniff out my mother’s Eggnog. The shit is off the chain.”
I take one last look at Whitney as she walks over to the railing and peers into the thick woods.
“Yeah, maybe one.”
Serena pokes her head into my attic bedroom as I read an old Shel Silverstein classic Grams used to read to me. Peyton is already fast asleep, cradled in my arms on the ancient twin mattress.
“He’s out,” she says, taking a seat on the bed next to me, weighing my expression as I close the book.
“Talk to me.”
“About what? Eli?” I harrumph. “Just proves that my run of shitty luck isn’t over. Rest assured, big sis, it was a shock, but I’m over it.”
“Can I just say—”
“No.”
“That he’s fucking gorgeous—”
“No.”
“And that I almost died tonight feeling all that delicious tension—”
“No.”
“And that my toes curled with the way he looked at you—”
“No.”
“And that I think he came back to see you—”
“No.”
“I mean, you guys were hot and heavy. Is it so bad, what he did—”
My look cuts her off mid-sentence.
“So, we hate him, then?”
“No. I can’t hate him because it’s bad for me. But I’m not thrilled he’s here.”