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She would have left. I’d have gotten a text letting me off the hook. This whole mess would be filed as a near miss, and I’d be lined up to lord this thing over my sister for the next thirty years.
If I hadn’t opened the door.
I wasn’t going to. I’d stood there, crunching away on a Honeycrisp with Lara’s name on it, staring through that fisheye lens as I cataloged surface-level changes between the woman on the other side and the eighteen-year-old girl she was the last time we were together.
Those golden, windblown waves that hung wild around her face were now tamed into a smooth, controlled fall. The cut-offs and oversized shirts that somehow always had a smudge of dirt or paint on them had been replaced by wide-legged trousers and a silk blouse in shades of cream. And instead of the Converse sneakers she’d scour the secondhand stores for, she was wearing a pair of killer heels that had me mentally screaming, Imposter!
I was practically holding my breath, waiting for her to leave. It’s what I wanted. At least until I saw that single assertive nod she gave to herself as she grabbed her bag and turned to actually go.
Next thing, the door was open, and I was giving her a hard time, telling her to come inside. Chatting her up while I casually sprinkled roommate bait throughout our brief interaction.
“Didn’t Piper mention the housekeeper and grocery shopper?”
What. The. Fuck. Boomer.
I didn’t want Lara to move in. But apparently, my needy-as-fuck inner psyche had had enough of people skipping out on me this week and wouldn’t let her do it too.
“I’m gone more than I’m here, so you’d almost have the place to yourself.”
That’s what sealed the deal, my not being around. Figures.
Anyway, we’re roommates now.
The screen on my phone blinks awake with an incoming video call from Bowie.
I drop my weights with a hard exhale and swipe to answer.
“How’s Italy?”
“Gorgeous. Hot. Your sister loves it.”
She’s been blowing up my phone with pictures since about two a.m.
“So how is it seeing Lara again?” In the small screen, Bowie walks over to a rack and starts making his selections. “Been a minute, yeah?”
A minute. Eight years. Whatever.
“It’s weird. Nice. I mean, you remember what she was like in high school.”
He grins, knocking out a few squats. “Pretty. Funny. Sweet.”
My brows pull together.
“Settle, Boomer. I’m not mentally stepping out on your sister so put your scowl away. I was never into Lara, but objectively speaking, she was a babe.”
He’s not wrong. Objectively speaking, Lara was always hot. Confident, kind, and driven. She could talk smack and take it right back with a laugh that pulled everyone in on whatever the joke was. People were always drawn to her. Half the guys at school and more than a few of the girls were into her.
“Yeah, she’s still pretty.” Understatement. “That’s the same.” Like her laugh. Her smile. And that thing where she pushes her hair back behind her ear when she’s nervous.
Same, same, same.
The way I try not to get caught up in all of the above.
Same.
I grab my bar, adjusting my grip before starting to knock out reps.
“But?”
