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She gives me a knowing look and points down at my leg. “Are you hiding something from Josie?”

“No,” I grit out with no hesitation, but even I hear the defensiveness in the singular word. Really, what the fuck? That’s not what I was expecting Sisi to bring up. I honestly don’t remember the last time she’s mentioned my leg.

She cocks a hip out and arches a brow. “Sly, you practically live for giving the women of this town weekly heart attacks. Each weekend, you’re out here washing your car shirtless, with those short shorts Sutton told you about, making sure those feral old women get a good look at those thigh tats you’re so proud of. So be real and stop bullshitting me.”

“Is there a question in there?” I mutter.

She crosses her arms and pins me with a confident look that says she knows she’s right and I’m simply being difficult.

I sigh in defeat, resigning myself to agree with her. For reasons I haven’t even fully admitted to myself, I don’t want Josie to know about my leg, and I don’t really feel like unpacking that baggage with my sister right now.

I give her a pleading look. “Can you please not make a big deal about this? Being around her is already hard enough.”

She studies me for a beat, and I consider asking her what it’ll take for her to drop this. At this point, I’m not above begging to end this conversation.

“Fine,” she says, tossing her hair her over her shoulder, “but whose fault is it then?”

I want to tell her to fuck off, but I can’t because, yet again, she’s right. I’m the one who ended things with Josie, and it was supposed to be simple. She was supposed to leave this place and never look back. I never had the heart to tell Sisi that’s what I wanted—that us breaking up and her losing her best friend was my fault.

Thankfully, I think her question was rhetorical, or maybe she’s content knowing that she made her point, because she changes the subject.

“Do you want to come out with us again tonight? After the hike we were thinking of going to The Hatch and then back to my place to watch HHR reruns.”

I shake my head. “Nah, I’m going to stay in. I think I’m Hatch-ed out at the moment.”

That part is true, even if Meredith might possibly leave me alone now. From the look on Sisi’s face, and this conversation, I think she has an idea why I don’t feel like going out.

“Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, you’re always welcome to join.”

I grunt a thanks, taking another glance at Maribel’s across the street. I happen to look right as Josie and Grace strut out the front door, laughing and heading in our direction.

Fuck. I’m not ready for this again, and judging by Sisi’s amused expression, she knows it too.

While they were at the bakery, my sister distracted me by interrogating me about my wardrobe choices and whether I might have some unresolved issues with Josie that are clouding my judgment.

Not that I would tell my sister, but I’m emotionally functional enough at this age to already know I have unresolved issues. I’m just not going to peel my carefully built armor back so my sister can poke and prod at the remnants of my heart. I’d rather go have a root canal—make that multiple root canals—than undergo that particular indignity today or any day.

I do my best to collect myself and get my shit together right as the girls reach us.

“You get something good for lunch?” Sisi asks.

Grace laughs. “Everything there sounded delicious. So, yes, we did.”

Josie nods, leaning against the front end of my car. Seeing her in those skimpy black shorts and that strappy sports bra leaning against my car is an image I couldn’t have dreamed of. All I can think about is bending her over and fucking her on the hood. I don’t care that she’s leaving streaks. There’s something about the perfect contrast between black and red. Her bold tattoos, her outfit, her fiery hair, all against the backdrop of my car—it’s better than any pinup poster.

“You ready to go?” Josie asks, tossing a brown sandwich bag at my sister.

“Yeah, I’m all set,” Sisi says. I barely notice her tucking the bag into her hiking pack before slinging it over her shoulders. My eyes are still glued to the redhead who has my palms sweaty.

Or at least I think that’s sweat because I never resumed washing my car after Josie and Grace first showed up, followed by the grilling my sister gave me. Then again, thinking probably isn’t my strongest skill right now because my mind is racing, but my heart is busy sending blood south to my very conflicted cock.

Josie straightens up and quirks a brow when she finally notices me standing here, slack-jawed and silent. That’s when she elbows my sister and points at me.

“Is he okay, or is he having a stroke?”

“He’s probably about to have an aneurysm because you’re smudging his freshly washed car.” My sister snickers. “Now, come on. Let’s leave glamour muscles alone so he can get back to washing his precious baby.”

“You’re so funny,” I grumble.