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“Coffee?” I grumble for the fifteenth time as I lace up my combat boots. “You woke me up for coffee? Isn’t that like an oxymoron or something?”
Gemma smooths out her long dark hair before wriggling her pointy cat claws at me. “Don’t pretend you didn’t sleep through English and actually know what an oxymoron is.”
Ignoring her, I make a pass through the bathroom to fix my hair and brush my teeth. She stands sentry by my door with her giant Louis Vuitton handbag that matches her fingernails so precisely it’s scary. Knowing my sister, she probably did that on purpose to show her followers how stylish she is. That influencer shit she does seems exhausting.
“I’m driving,” I tell her as I snag my chain wallet and hook it to my belt. “If I’m being forced out of bed to get coffee with you, then I at least get to drive the damn car.”
Gemma, with her model-runway face already made up with lash extensions and whatever else bullshit makeup that probably took her three hours to apply, glowers at me. With a frustrated huff, she lobs the keys at me, nearly taking out my fucking eye.
“Mean,” I say with a grin. “Always so mean.”
She softens and shrugs. “You bring out the best in me. What can I say?”
The thing with Gemma and me is that no matter how different we are or how much I resent her place in our family over mine, we always will be friends. She’s been my go-to person since before we could speak. If there was trouble to get into, we did it together. When we became teenagers, that all changed because Dad watches her like a hawk, but we still manage to maintain that friendship okay.
Mom is cleaning all the old silver at the dining room table when we make our way downstairs. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. She’s also wearing her messy housecleaning clothes. We have a house cleaner, but she likes to clean it first so it isn’t so dirty for the maid. Again, I think that’s an oxymoron, but according to Gemma, I may have that confused because she’s right, I did sleep in English.
“You two are up bright and early,” Mom chirps, grinning over at us. “My sweet babies are driving now.”
I bite back the fact we should’ve been driving two years ago, but it’s not necessary to start wreaking havoc this early in the morning. Plus, my beef is mainly with Dad, not Mom. I’ll save my smart-ass comments for him.
“We’re going for coffee. I’m bringing stuff back for Willa and Tate. You want anything?” Gemma asks as she digs around in her purse for something. “I’ll need your credit card, though.”
I snort out a laugh and Mom smirks at me. Gemma always has an excuse to use our parents’ credit cards. I’m pretty sure the purse she’s wearing was one of those times.
“Nah,” Mom says with a chuckle. “Just use your account. If you need more money, text Dad.”
Texting Dad to refill our accounts between allowance time usually comes with a lecture about money management and responsibility. I would rather cut off my own foot with a pocket knife than have to sit through one of those. Apparently, Gemma feels the same.
“It’s fine,” Gemma grumbles. “I’m getting paid tomorrow for that ad I did for Sparkles Gems and Fine Jewelry.”
Gemma makes money, she just doesn’t like spending it.
“I’ve got you,” I assure my sister, even though we both know she’s got a shit ton more money than I do. “Since you’re letting me drive and all.”
Her grin is vibrant and blinding. “That’s why you’re my favorite brother!”
Mom waves at us as we head into the garage. Her Mercedes rarely sees the light of day since she’s mostly a homebody and rides everywhere in Dad’s car. I wonder if I can talk her into giving Gemma her car and I can keep the Tahoe for myself.
The twin connection must be buzzing with electricity because Gemma looks over at Mom’s car like it’s an aging minivan and says, “Ew, no. Never. It’s a mom car.”
We both crack up laughing as we climb into the vehicle. Dad pisses me off with this whole car shit, but this vehicle is nice. I’d love being able to drive it around all by myself and go wherever the hell I please. Maybe one day.
He’s been more bearable once I agreed to enroll at PMU. Of course he doesn’t know my reasons for doing it, but he was pleased nonetheless, which got him off my back.
The drive to town isn’t quiet. Gemma, the passenger princess, has already hooked her phone up to the stereo and is playing something obnoxious from her playlist. I’m able to tune it out because I have something better to think about.
Sloane.
Always Sloane.
That woman is never far from my mind. Last night, I drew what I thought she might look like with her shirt hanging down just low enough to expose her nipple. It was so fucking hot that I immediately jerked off, making a huge-ass mess. Shame had me deleting that artwork so fast off my device, though.
Who the hell does that?
Before I can make myself feel any worse than I already do, we’re pulling into the coffee shop that apparently the whole damn town loves. We decide to hit the drive-through rather than go in since it’s madness inside. When we reach the speaker to order, Gemma climbs across the console to yell out her three orders.
“Anything for you?”
