Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Sara sighs. “I can’t stay here, Banks. I’m making them miserable. That’s making me miserable.”
“So you want to spread the misery to me?”
Ashley looks sweetly at Sara. “You are not making us miserable.”
“You’re newlyweds and were being overly gracious to me in the first place,” Sara says. “I can’t extend this. It would be totally unfair, and I’d be a jerk, and despite what some people think, I’m not a jerk. Or I try not to be, anyway.”
My heart pounds as I turn to my brother. He gives me the only look I didn’t want to see—the one of disappointment.
I run my fingers through my hair and pace in a circle. Why did I come over here? Why couldn’t I just stay at home and sign the invoices I brought back from the shop? Or something.
Anything besides this.
“What would I get out of it?” I say through clenched teeth.
“I’ll clean your house,” Sara offers.
I spin around. “No. See?” I point at her. “She’ll come in and touch my stuff. Rearrange it. Move it.”
“Oh, the irony,” Maddox deadpans.
I narrow my eyes. “This isn’t funny.” Spinning around to Sara again, I shake my head. “You’re me-ing me again. The world is only big enough for one me.”
“Stop being dramatic,” Sara says.
“Good luck with that,” Maddox says, sighing.
Sara puts her hands on her hips. Her perfect little pout presses together, and she looks at me in exasperation. “I don’t want this any more than you do.”
“We’ve been here before. It seems to be a recurring theme.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not a very nice way to talk to your landlord.”
She throws her hands in the air. “He’s right. This will never work. I’ll stay in a hotel.”
“Good,” I say as she storms off.
“Good,” she yells back.
Maddox and Ashley watch, bewildered, as I march to the door. I let it slam shut moments before the door upstairs closes with a loud thud.
9
Banks
I glance at the clock. Again.
The day has gone by slowly, even for a Monday. It didn’t help that I couldn’t sleep last night. It also didn’t help that when I got here, Tasha was saying the word vacation a lot. And it surely didn’t make things go by faster as I kept checking the time.
“Just bring your car by my shop this week, and I’ll reset it for you.”
I didn’t say to bring it by Monday. So why do I keep thinking she’ll come by today?
I study my computer screen and try to decide between the white and blue options for the item in front of me. The white is crisper, but the blue would probably grab more attention.
I click the blue and stick it in my cart. Done.
Maddox hasn’t called or texted me today either, and that’s not helping things. Not that having a conversation with him about Sara would help, but it would make me feel better about it. Just knowing he wasn’t mad—that he understood—would help tons.
Except he probably is mad, and he probably doesn’t understand.
Hell, I don’t know if I understand myself.
I stretch back, my chair squealing from the effort. I groan, feeling the pull of my muscles all the way to my toes. The relief is nice. It’s needed. It’s not all the relief I need, but it’ll have to do until I get home.
Home.
“Dammit,” I mutter and sit upright again.
As much as I don’t want to—as much as it’s against everything I stand for on a daily basis—I need to be an adult about this. I need to do the right thing. I need to stop being a pansy and help my brother.
But, my God, what a mess this will make.
There are no two ways about it. There’s not a chance in hell that I get out of this unscathed. At best, she’ll leave marks down my back when she goes. At worst, we’ll be mortal enemies by the time her apartment is ready.
I say I hate her. I want to hate her. I want to be able to think of Sara and remember all the ways she gets under my skin and be happy she’s not around.
But the trouble is that when I think of her, I remember all the ways I wish she’d get under me, and I’m irritated that’s not happened yet. I’m annoyed I want it to happen. I’m disturbed that I know how that ends—what a disaster this will be for Maddox and Ashley when Sara and I do loathe one another—and I still want it. Badly.
“Fuck it,” I say, giving in to the need that’s festered inside me since I walked out of my brother’s last night.
I pick up my phone, open my text app, and find Sara’s name.
Me: Are you bringing your car in today or not?
Her response comes immediately.
Sara: No.
Me: We close in an hour.
Sara: Enjoy your evening.
I sigh, blowing out my breath hard.