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And yet, I can’t turn my feelings off just because it’s the right thing to do.
I’m drawn out of my complicated inner musings when someone sidles up next to me. Spencer lifts a brow, asking a silent question. How are you, cuz?
Of course we’re not actual cousins.
Technically, I’m his uncle, but he’s older than me, so that’s fucking confusing.
Spencer, despite also being a family fuckup like myself, has finally gotten his shit together. Who knew all it’d take was becoming a dad? Rex, his adorable kid, sleeps with his head on his daddy’s shoulder, drooling all over his crisp Polo.
“Everyone’s so happy for Gemma,” I tell him, avoiding the topic of Sloane altogether.
“You graduated too, dumbass. Even if you did have to suck off your English teacher to get a passing grade.”
“Mr. Collins wishes,” I say with a small chuckle. “Although, bald heads and BO really do it for me.”
“Cheer up,” Spencer says, reaching up to poke at my cheek. “You’re depressing as fuck to be around lately. Keep it up and I’m gonna sic Tate on you.”
I grimace at that thought. Not that I don’t like Tate because I really, really do. Nah, it’s because Tate is a therapist—our family therapist, to be exact—and my brother Jude’s boyfriend. Tate has an uncanny ability to get inside your head, pull out all the shit you don’t want to discuss, and force you to inspect it under a microscope with him so he can fix you.
Hard pass.
I don’t need fixing.
I just need a distraction. A new direction in life. Somewhere else to look besides the always magnetic and alluring Sloane Thurman.
Thankfully, before Spencer can pick inside my brain any more, the rest of our family and friends arrive. Mom turns into Party Planning Princess, magically greeting everyone, urging them toward the refreshments, and making sure everyone is having a good time.
They are.
As for me, if I didn’t have Sloane for eye candy, I’d have bailed as soon as no one was looking.
I watch Sloane as she hands Gemma one of the gifts from her bulky-and-so-not-her purse. Gemma opens it, grins widely, and then hugs Sloane. From my vantage point, it’s a white box. Probably a mirror. Gemma loves mirrors.
I smirk at my internal barb at my perfect sister when Sloane searches the small crowd of people. For a brief moment, I wish it were me she’s looking for. What would it even feel like to be Sloane’s man?
Before I can dream about such a scenario, her blue eyes lock onto mine. Her smile is small, but it feels fucking huge pointed my way.
Why the hell is she smiling at me?
Fuck, she’s coming over.
My shoulder muscles tighten as she ambles across the room. I force my gaze to remain on her face and not focus on how her nice tits jiggle and bounce as she approaches. Staring at her tits won’t win me any brownie points.
“Troublemaker,” Sloane says, hugging her massive purse to her. “Looking kind of lonely over here all by yourself.”
The first time she called me “troublemaker” was when I drove Mom’s car into a telephone pole when I was thirteen. She wasn’t Sloane, my sometimes babysitter. That day she was an angry cop. The nickname sort of stuck since then, and I hate that it makes my skin crawl.
I don’t want to make trouble for her.
I want to make it all go away.
“Officer Do-Good.” I grin at her, wide and fucking fake as hell. “They let you out of the donut shop—er, police station—long enough to socialize with the Park scum?”
Her brows knit together and her smile falters. “You okay?”
Hell no, I’m not okay.
The woman of my dreams has always seen me as a little shit stirring up drama in this town. If she knew I crushed over her so madly, she’d probably laugh in my face.
