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"No." She looks at me with puppy dog eyes. "You always make me feel like we're kids again. Like the only thing I'll ever want to abuse is sugar."
"Are you sober?"
"It's been twenty-four hours."
"The question stands."
"Yeah. Of course."
It's far from an of course. "You can stay. For one night. That's it. I have someone coming over tomorrow." Well, I plan to.
"Oh." Her voice perks. "You're seeing someone? Tell me all about her."
"It's not like that."
"What's it like?"
"We're friends."
"Oh. Well, that's good. Friends help." Loneliness creeps into her voice. All her friends are other addicts. If she really is trying to stay sober, she doesn't have anyone but me.
And I'm being an asshole.
I force my voice to soften. "Yeah. She's cool. Iris. You'd like her." Before everything, Bree was the picture of friendly. She liked everyone. "Emma crashes here sometimes. When she's pissed at Brendon."
"Emma." She smiles as she recalls my friend slash coworkers' spitfire little sister. "She's probably pissed at him a lot, huh?"
"Yeah." Resenting your sibling is something I understand well. "Less now that she's accepted Brendon and Kaylee."
She nods with understanding. A million years ago, she dated Brendon. Slept with him. Whatever.
I doubt she remembers his sister's best friend. Even if she remembers Emma well.
Fuck. That really was a mess.
At least it's out in the open now.
"She doesn't stay with the other guys?" she asks.
"I don't think so." Dean's older brother, Ryan, is the fourth and final shop co-owner. They don't exactly get along, but they do love each other. And they manage to work together. They don't get this level of frustration.
Not that I discuss it.
"Hmm." She moves into the kitchen and pulls the fridge open. "You think maybe Emma has a thing for you?"
"Emma would tell me."
"Maybe."
"I'm gonna shower. I'll order in dinner. What do you want?"
"I don't mind cooking."
"No. You're staying here until you leave in the morning." Safeway sells every kind of booze. I don't trust Bree to—the sentence ends there. I don't trust Bree. "Pick out a movie. We'll watch something."
"Anything in particular?"
"Anything." I move into my bedroom and drop my cell on my desk, next to my sketchbook.
