Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“That’s so cool,” Ellie says. “I wish I could live here. A pool, restaurant, and spa all at your disposal.” She sighs dramatically. “I wish I were rich.”
Lincoln and Micah both chuckle.
“Have you checked out the pool and spa yet?” Micah asks, his eyes landing on me.
“The pool, but not the spa,” Ellie answers. “We want to get massages, but they don’t have any appointments available.”
I flinch and hold my breath, afraid of getting caught in my lie. The truth is, the services are too much money, and I’ve already splurged on the hotel and swimsuits. So, when Ellie asked, I told her nothing was available, not wanting to put a damper on our mini vacation.
“Hmm,” Micah says. “I’ll look into that for you. Are you here all weekend?”
“Yep,” Ellie says. “Sienna has to go to work tonight, but we’re staying until tomorrow.”
“If you want…” Lincoln begins, but I’m already shaking my head.
“I need to work,” I say quickly. I already missed last night, and with the added expense of the hotel this weekend, I need money coming in—especially if, by some chance, our mom really meant what she said and we’re out on our asses.
Lincoln nods in understanding. Thankfully, the conversation is cut short when the waitress comes over to bring us glasses of ice water and then proceeds to take our drink order.
Of course, leave it to my sister to find an even worse topic to bring up.
“So, what’s this about you being my sister’s future husband?” she asks, after we’ve all ordered various types of coffees.
Lincoln snorts out a laugh, I stop myself from banging my head on the table, and Micah grins like a Cheshire cat.
“He was joking,” I say, glaring at Micah, at the same time he says, “One day we’re going to get married… as soon as she agrees to go on a date with me.”
Ellie finds this amusing. “You haven’t even gotten her to go on a date with you and you think you’re going to convince her to marry you?” She shakes her head. “Good luck with that.”
Micah’s grin only grows wider as he leans in, pretending to whisper. “Any pointers?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the P. “She doesn’t date. Ever. If it weren’t for me coming across the porn she was watching once by mistake, I’d think she was a lesbian.”
I’m drinking my water when she says this, and the liquid gets stuck in my throat as I choke on her words. I start coughing violently, so Micah reaches over and pats my back. His eyes, filled with mirth, connect with mine, and he whispers so no one can hear, “You know, if you let me take you out, you won’t need porn anymore.”
My breath hitches and I move away from his touch. “Hey, El, how about we don’t share personal info with others, yeah?”
She tucks her lips in to hide her smile, and I know she did that shit on purpose to fuck with me. “Sorry, sis.”
Once our coffees arrive and we order our food, Lincoln steers the conversation down a safer road, asking Ellie how her dance practice is going for her upcoming showcase. Excited that Lincoln remembered and always ready to talk dance, she tells everyone about her performance and how she wants to one day attend a college of the arts.
“What do you do with dance?” Lincoln asks curiously.
“Some people join a company, perform professionally.” She glances at me. “Sienna was so good she was invited to join a company right out of high school.”
The guys turn their attention on me, and I find myself suddenly flushed. “I thought you were an accounting major,” Lincoln says.
“That’s because dancing professionally doesn’t pay very well,” Ellie says, not knowing when to be quiet. “She needs a job that pays enough to cover the bills, since we’d be living on the streets if we left that up to our mom. She glances at me and smiles softly. “She’s only working at your club so she can take care of me. She doesn’t belong there, she’s only doing it because of me.”
And just like that, my sister is forgiven.
“I am not doing it because of you,” I say, not at all okay with the misplaced guilt that’s wrapped around her words.
“Yes, you are,” she says, not caring that we’re sitting with two men who are practically strangers and airing our dirty laundry out in front of them. “If it weren’t for you having to take care of me, you’d be dancing right now—and not on a pole. And you wouldn’t be stuck in college, majoring in something you don’t even like.” Her brow furrows and then she adds, “Is that why you never date? Because you’re always with me?”
Oh, Jesus. This girl is killing me.
“Eliza,” I hiss, my gaze swinging between her and the guys who are listening, trying to convey to her to stop. But of course, like the clueless teenager she is, she tilts her head to the side in confusion.