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Daisy: The salted almond?
Luna: You think I've forgotten?
Daisy: Tempting…
Luna: But not compared to sleeping next to your beloved?
Daisy: It just feels so good when his arms are around me.
Luna: I know what you mean.
My eyes flutter closed. My thoughts flit to Oliver. His low grunt, his blue eyes, his tattooed biceps.
The pressure of his body against mine.
The warmth of his skin.
The hardness.
The sound of his breath—
Fuck. I'm not fantasizing about my best friend's brother while I'm texting her. That's a new low.
I'm just—
Which is worse? Thinking about Mom or thinking about Oliver?
The reason why I need to stay here.
The reason why staying here is far too dangerous.
Daisy: Are you okay?
Luna: I don't know. It's weird. I never thought it would happen to my parents. Maybe everyone says that.
Daisy: Uh, no.
Luna: I feel silly complaining. You had it so much worse.
Daisy: You're not complaining. I asked. And, sure, my parents were a nightmare. But they were always a nightmare. You're losing something real.
Luna: Am I though? Or have they been lying to me all this time?
Daisy: You really think so?
Luna: I don't know. Allison was lying about seeing another woman. What else isn't true?
Daisy: Maybe it's just that.
Luna: Maybe.
Daisy: They do love you.
Luna: Do I have to acknowledge that?
Daisy: No.
Luna: Is it really cool if I stay here forever?
Daisy: Only if you're ready to watch teen soaps every night.
Luna: Deal. Wait, does this mean I have to eat seventy percent dark chocolate?
Daisy: No. You can stick with the eight-five.
Luna: Then good luck getting rid of me.
Daisy: Why would I want to?
Luna: I miss you.
Daisy: I know. I miss you too. But I'll be home for Thanksgiving.
Luna: That's in a million years.
Daisy: I might come sooner. If I have a light weekend.
Luna: You promise?
Daisy: Yeah. But you know I'll spend half that time with Holden.
Luna: It's not "Sisters before misters unless he makes you come." It's just "sisters before misters."
Daisy: You should be proud of me for getting some.
Luna: Does that mean you have a story?
Daisy: Maybe.
Luna: Tell please.
It takes a few more requests, but eventually, she spills the details of a phone sex session with Holden.
The tattoo artist turned my sweet, innocent best friend into a sex-crazed pervert.
They're good together. She loves him. He treats her like a princess.
And I understand why she wants to stay with him. Why she'll see him first when she visits.
The girl needs to get hers.
I'm okay stepping aside.
I just miss coming first.
Even this thing with my parents…
I know it's not my fault. I know I can't control it. That she's the one who chose to have an affair.
But I miss coming first there too. Our family coming first.
Allison chose something else.
Maybe she had her reasons. Maybe it's complicated.
But she still chose to tear our family apart.
I can't look at her.
I just can't.
So I'm going to have to find a way to stay here without touching Oliver.
Even if it kills me.
Chapter Twelve
Oliver
The next day, I fix dinner. Eat with Luna. Leave the leftovers—and the mess—for dad.
Luna studies at the table.
I fix decaf.
When I sit, she hands me her flash cards. Asks me to quiz her on European history.
When we're finished, we celebrate with dark chocolate and two episodes of The Bachelorette. I hate to admit it, but it's pretty entertaining watching these idiots fall all over themselves to impress a woman who clearly prefers another guy.
Anything to stay on TV, I guess.
She goes to sleep before me. I wish her good night. Inhale the familiar scent of her shampoo. Lie in my bed, trying to read, failing to sleep.
In the morning, I wake, dress, jog, shower, fix coffee for two.
She arrives just in time to request eggs. And toast. With butter, please. Real butter. None of that dairy free butter.
"Why would I have dairy free butter?" I ask.
"The place we get brunch only has dairy-free butter." She sticks out her tongue. "You know I don't mind veggie food. I'll eat dal all day. Or almond milk. Coconut ice cream. Whatever. But the fake butter…" She sticks out her tongue again. "Disgusting."
"So you want the veggie meatballs when we go to Ikea?"
Her nose scrunches in distaste.
"We are going? This weekend? To get you stuff."
"Of course."
"Am I not invited."
"No. It would be good to have your… biceps."
I actually flex for her.
She laughs. "Impressive. But we'll see what they can do."
I pour her another cup of coffee.
She sighs with gratitude. Groans through her first few sips. "You know, Ollie, for a brooding asshole, you're not too bad."
"You flatter me."
"I do try." She smiles.
And I melt.
Quickly, it becomes a routine.
Breakfast and dinner with Luna.
Trashy reality shows with dessert.
The company of someone I like. Who doesn't think I'm a fuckup. Who appreciates my help.
Friday morning, I smile when she groans over her coffee. I laugh when she complains we're out of dark chocolate.
