Max who? Don’t tell me this has become a threesome already.
I snap a picture of Max’s prone body nestled against my leg.
Meet Max.
Let me get this straight. You’ve picked up a man and a dog in less than a week. Who are you and what have you done with my sister?
I stifle a laugh and sink deeper into the sagging mattress of my bed. The cheap motel comforter scratches against my bare legs as I shift positions.
I promise I am your sister. I just have two stowaways riding with me.
Why are you sitting there with a dog and trash TV when you have a man sitting feet away from you?
She wastes zero time in responding.
Um, hello, do I need to explain it to you? How long has it been since you got laid, Lil?
I roll my eyes so hard they might fall out of my head. If Emily only knew just how close I was to getting what I wanted. Jonah has put up the good fight, but his resolve is cracking.
Send me a pic. I want to see this guy.
No.
How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what we’re working with?
I sigh and shift on the bed, angling my phone so I can capture Jonah without being too obvious. I try to make it look like I’m just checking something on my screen while sneakily snapping a photo. The result is a blurry but clear enough image of him in profile.
I hesitate before sending it, feeling strangely guilty, but hit the button anyway.
Three dots appear immediately, then:
You said he was a professor not a freaking model. Those CHEEKBONES.
Is that what professors look like now?
Maybe I should go back and finish my Master’s Degree.
If you don’t want him, I’ll take your place.
The second my sister’s I’ll take your place lands, something hot and immediate moves through me.
No. The thought arrives before I’ve finished reading the words. Just—no.
He’s mine to be infuriating at. Mine to watch go pink around the ears when I lean too close. Mine to slowly, methodically dismantle.
I glance across the room at him. He’s shifted in his chair, one knee bouncing now, jaw tight. He’s been like that all day—doing everything in his power not to look at me and failing at it constantly.
Emily can find her own scientist. This one is mine.
As if on cue, he glances up and catches me staring.
“Everything okay?”
“Just my sister.” I set the phone face-down on the comforter. “Being Emily.”
“Ah.” He nods, returning to his work, but not before I catch the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Does he know? Can he somehow sense Emily’s thirst-texts from across the room?
I flip my phone back over to find three more messages.
