“What makes you say that?”
“Well, for one, you’re here.”
“I live here,” I argued.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Boy, please. You can say that shit to her, but not me.”
“Why don’t you talk to that one guy who asked you out?” I asked, changing the subject. “The one that lives in Ann Arbor? What’s his name?”
“Asa Young,” she grumbled.
“Yeah, what about him?”
“I already asked about him,” she admitted. “He’s off the market. Besides, that would defeat the entire purpose of my plan to marry someone I don’t want to have sex with.”
“On that note …” I stood and took my dirty dishes to the sink.
Erica followed me into the kitchen. “Can you introduce me to one of your homeboys? I take that back. You don’t really have any friends, besides Amir. And he’s off limits. And Hendrix. We’re related. I’ll ask him.”
I lifted a brow. “Be my guest.”
She bit down on her thumbnail. “Wait a minute … Hen doesn’t have any friends either. What’s wrong with y’all?”
“Says the person who calls her big brother her best friend.”
Erica cracked up. “Oh, shut up. I can’t help that we’re an insulated group.”
My sister wasn’t wrong. I kept my circle small because I learned a long time ago that maintaining friendships was hard when your last name was Batchelor. Being the son of the man who’d nearly destroyed that legacy added another layer of hardship.
“I feel a lot better,” Erica blurted out, “so thank you. Are you hungry?”
Nodding, I washed the few dishes in the sink. “Not really.” I eyed her skeptically. “You must be hungry.”
She beamed. “I am.”
When she didn’t say anything else, I sighed. I knew what she wanted, but honestly, I didn’t want to leave the house. “No.”
“Wes!” She gaped. “We should go out.”
“Nah, I’m good. And you just said you felt better, which means you don’t need me.”
“I always need my brother.”
It didn’t matter how adamant I was when I started a conversation with my sister. She had the ability to get me to abandon most plans for her. Typically, all it took was her big, teary doe eyes, and the sad pout she was currently sporting. The only other person that could do that was …Albany.
“We can eat a nice dinner, have a few drinks,” she cajoled. “Then, you can tell me all about Albany.”
“Nice try,” I muttered. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“I wish I believed you.” She flashed a sad smile. “Since you’ve given me your ear, allow me to give you some advice. From a woman who’s been around my fair share of dirty bastards.”
Advice was the last thing I needed or wanted. This thing with Albany had to be handled by us. Only us. As much as I wanted to move forward, I couldn’t get around how I’d hurt her. My actions had consequences. I’d apologized to her, and I would happily do that every day of our lives if she’d …
Dropping my head, I stared at the countertop. “Well …?” I prompted.
“Remember when you told me you wanted to marry her?”
It wasn’t often that I discussed my personal life with anyone, let alone my sister. Yet I recalled the moment. Albany and I had known each other practically our entire lives because our grandmothers were best friends, more like sisters.
