Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“One actress and one model,” I say. But it wouldn’t matter if there were a hundred of each. I’m pretty sure this thing I feel for Shay is incurable. “Did Carter tell you or Shay?”
“Carter told me that you— Wait. Shay knows?”
“Shay knows what?”
Speak of the devil. My skin tingles at the sound of that voice, and I slowly turn to see Shay striding toward the bar. The sight of her steals the breath from my lungs. She looked beautiful this morning in a T-shirt and jeans, but tonight, her legs are on display. Her little black dress clings to the luscious curves of her ass, and her pink sweater brings out the color in her cheeks. She’s fucking irresistible—even when her eyes flash with annoyance at the sight of me and she braces her hands on her hips like she’s preparing for battle.
Jake looks between me and his sister, then shakes his head. “Nah, I’m not touching this.”
She arches a brow. “Shay knows what?”
“You know that I think you’re beautiful,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “At least, I think you know.”
Something like hurt flashes across her face, but she shakes it away and turns to her brother. “I need the biggest fucking martini you’ve ever served, and I need it now.”
“Okay then,” Jake says.
“Bad day?” I can’t help smiling, because she’s here. I can tell the feeling isn’t mutual, but my day just got a hell of a lot better.
“Weird night,” she mutters. Shaking her head, she steps behind the bar. “Never mind, Jake. I think this calls for more than vodka.”
Jake steps back, clearly smart enough to know when Shay’s on a mission and he needs to get out of her way. “Do you want to talk about it or—”
“No.” In a series of jerky motions, she grabs vodka, Baileys, Godiva, and Kahlua from the shelf.
Jake grimaces as she pours shots of each into a martini shaker. “What the hell are you making?”
“A martini.”
“Yeah, I guessed as much,” he mutters. “But what the hell kind of martini is that?”
“It’s called And the Kitchen Sink. Star made them at her annual fundraiser for the women’s shelter. It’s a dessert martini. I only had a sip of Nic’s because I was afraid of the calories, but I’ve decided fuck it.” She ducks down and pulls open the fridge under the bar. “Do we have any heavy cream?”
Jake’s brows have totally disappeared under his messy hair. “Who are you, and what did you do with my calorie-conscious sister?”
Shay sighs dramatically and grabs her martini shaker, disappearing into the kitchen.
We both watch the door, waiting for her to return. When she does, she’s capped off the martini shaker and is shaking it so hard her tits bounce—not that I’m looking.
Jake cautiously grabs a martini glass off the shelf and hands it to her.
“Don’t judge until you try it,” she says, pouring.
“But I don’t want diabetes,” he says with a grimace.
“Whatever. Suit yourself.” The glass is filled to the rim when she pulls the shaker away, and she sighs, satisfied. But then she just stands there and stares at it.
“Are you going to try it?” Jake asks.
“Of course I am.”
“Okay, because it looks like you were just going to admire it all night.”
She bites her bottom lip, pulling off some of her pink gloss. Her hand shakes as she brings the glass to her lips. I wonder if Jake sees it too. I wonder if he, like me, knows this is what happens before she melts down. But maybe not anymore. She said she’s changed, and after seven years without seeing her face, I can’t claim to know shit.
Jake ducks his head and whispers something in her ear, and I know he sees it too—is probably offering to go somewhere and talk with her, if I had to guess. I’ve missed this family and their closeness, the way they can fight like rabid dogs one minute and have each other’s backs the next.
Shay shakes her head. “I’m a little stressed. It’s fine. I just need to self-medicate for a minute.”
Jake gives her one last long look and nods before disappearing into the kitchen.
God must be smiling down on me today, because sometime during Shay’s martini-making production, the guy who was sitting next to me cleared out, leaving cash for Jake.
I nod to the vacant barstool. “Sit here, Shayleigh. We’ll self-medicate together. Unless you are giving me the silent treatment, that is.”
I wait for it—that smile of hers that makes me believe that somehow everything will be okay, the comforting stillness of sitting next to her, the warmth of her laughter. Hell, it’s been too long since I’ve heard that sound, since I’ve watched joy blossom on her face and felt like maybe I was born to put it there. I’ve missed her.