Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
She looks around the backyard, shy and eager at once. "Do you think anyone watched?"
"Yes." I'm sure they did. But I barely noticed anyone else. Even now, I barely see anyone else. Only the satisfaction in her dark eyes, the smile on her wine lips.
We don't finish our drinks.
We don't stay and mingle.
We walk around the side yard, out to the street, to my car.
Then she stops. "We didn't swim."
"We can." I motion to the house.
She shakes her head. "No." She motions to the ocean.
"I didn't bring a suit."
"I know." She takes my hand and leads me to the quiet beach.
She looks me in the eyes and she strips out of her clothes. Then she watches me do the same. There's desire in her eyes, but it's not just a physical desire.
It's mental, emotional.
The desire for more.
For the kind of raw intimacy she offers on her website.
That's the way to make this fair.
To share with her, show her where I hurt.
Not just Deidre. The other places too.
I can do that.
Even if it's more terrifying than anything.
The night is perfect. We shower together, fall asleep in my bed, sleep soundly.
A dream.
Until I wake up to the sound of Imogen's gasp.
She stares at her cell in horror. "My sister is here." She paces around the room. "We have find-my-phone and I promised she could meet you and she… took matters into her own hands."
"I'm good with sisters."
"You haven't met mine."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
PATRICK
"We're here," Imogen calls as she opens the door and invites her sister inside.
"Hello," a loud voice follows. Similar to Imogen's voice in some hard to explain way. The cadence sisters often share.
Deidre and Molly were the same.
I wasn't. I didn't fit into their world of sisterhood. There was something I never could understand, that they never believed I could understand.
When I was a kid, I hated it. Then, I understood. Now?
Well, I guess none of us really understood.
"Are you decent?" Imogen's sister calls with excitement.
"He is." Imogen looks up at me and sends a wave. "Sorry."
I wave back.
Imogen's sister drops the hands she has over her eyes. "Boo. No fun."
"Don't even," Imogen says.
"Hi, Patrick. I'm Julie." Julie waves. "Were you two having sex when I texted?"
"Sleeping," I say.
"Sleeping off sex?" she asks.
"Sorry. I haven't had a boyfriend in a long time." The word boyfriend rolls off her tongue casually, as if it's obvious, as if she's been using it for years.
My entire body flushes. I'm warm everywhere. I'm her boyfriend. It's such a simple label, but it feels so good.
Imogen notices, smiles, continues, "Julie has a lot of stored I need to torture your boyfriend energy."
"I love torture." I slip on my shoes and move down the stairs. "You hungry?" I ask them both.
"Starving," Julie says. "Do you have coffee?"
"Let's go out," Imogen says.
"No! Let's stay in your boyfriend's apartment," Julie says.
"So you can snoop?" Imogen asks.
Julie holds up crossed fingers. "Never."
"We don't have a lot to eat," I say.
"Please. If Immy spent the night, there's oatmeal," Julie says. "You're like a robot with your routine."
Imogen blushes. "Lots of people eat the same thing for breakfast every day."
"Let's suffer through some oatmeal," Julie says. "Then we can go out for coffee. Deal?"
"Seems fair," I say.
She laughs. "See, your boyfriend agrees."
"I like her oatmeal," I say.
"And the chai too?" Julie asks.
"Who wouldn't?" I ask.
"Really? The star anise? It's a little cliché, don't you think? The Viet girl adding star anise?" Julie asks.
"Fuck off," Imogen says.
"She's not embarrassed by her obviousness," Julie says. "She's embarrassed because Mom makes her chais with extra star anise too."
"Don't they own a coffee shop?" I ask.
"And bakery, yes. So when Mom wants something special, she wants tea, not coffee." Julie scans the counter until she finds the tin of chai. "At least you don't go out of your way to add Saigon Cinnamon."
"You're a flavor philistine," Imogen says.
"It's okay. I am too. I drink Bud Light." I shoot Imogen a wink.
She laughs. "You're improving."
"Oh, let me guess. The fancy tonic water." When Imogen pouts, Julie laughs. "Just like Mom."
"No. She uses Q," Imogen says.
"Oh, so you use Fever Tree. Please. She loves Fever Tree too. She's probably infusing a bottle of gin with star anise right now." Julie shakes her head. "Like mother, like daughter, you know?"
"Lots of people love the flavors their parents use in their cooking," Imogen says.
"Yeah, but you know that's not what I meant." Julie pulls out a chair and sits at the main table. "You're both tough as nails and good at keeping secrets."
"Isn't that a paradox?" I ask.
"Hmm. Maybe. If they're that good, I wouldn't know," Julie says. "Or maybe I'm really good at uncovering secrets."
"Okay, Sherlock," Imogen says.
Julie flips her off.
Imogen returns it.
Their expressions are playful, but there's something under them too.
Of course there is.
Imogen hasn't told her sister about her attempt. There's no way Julie didn't notice a change in her behavior, in her relationship with her mom.