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“It’s okay, Ali. You can go. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I watched her leave and finally was alone with my sister. I turned back to Lyric, who held my gaze until I looked away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Can we just be honest, Echo? Boyd pushes your buttons. There’s no way around that. But the real problem is that you can’t control him. And you’re a control freak. You hate not being in control.”
“I am not…” But my words died at the look on her face. She was right but still I wouldn’t give in. I was stubborn that way.
She arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “You broke out in hives two years ago because the family voted to go to Live Oaks instead of staying in the city for Christmas.”
“I’d just got my new apartment and wanted to host.”
“And when the menu you gave to Marta wasn’t used, you made your own food and ate in the kitchen.”
“I wanted duck and carb free, not turkey, mashed potatoes, and biscuits.”
“That’s so mature.” But she wasn’t finished. “When Dad was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, you nearly had a meltdown because the seating wasn’t the way you wanted it to be.”
“I didn’t want to sit beside Daddy’s new ho.”
“You acted like a child.”
If looks could kill, Lyric would be faceup on the floor, her damn four-inch spikes nailed through her cold-blooded heart. She was right, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Jesus, Lyric would never let me hear the end of that.
“I just…I like knowing what’s up. That way, I can prepare.”
“Prepare for what? Doesn’t that get exhausting? Can’t you just live in the moment? Can’t you just let life hit you in the chest and react?”
“Spontaneity is overrated.”
She laughed at that. “Says the girl who threw away the rule book when she was ten.” Her grin widened. “And then there’s the sexual tension.”
I glared at her. She was gloating. I hated when she gloated because it usually meant she was right.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw you guys upstairs. Boyd looked like he wanted to eat you, and I’ve never seen you so damn rattled. A blind man would have picked up on those vibes.” Her forehead got all scrunched—the way it did when she was thinking real hard. “Why are you so against exploring whatever it is between you? Like, what do you have to lose?”
“Everything.” I swore. “Nothing.” I sighed and shook my head. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me.”
I opened my mouth, reaching for that smartass comment that would put her in her place, but I had nothing. Me. Echo Mansfield. Miss Motormouth of eighth grade. Miss Queen of the Comeback. Miss My Words Can Cut You Like a Blade.
I had not a damn thing.
“Echo, look.” Lyric sighed and took a step toward me. “I’m not exactly sure what happened between you guys at the cabin, but it’s obvious something did. You’re different. And I think that’s a good thing. Why don’t you try something new for a change? Let things happen organically. I mean, hello, the guy just plunked down one million dollars to spend the weekend with you. That has to say something.”
“It says he has a big bank account.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“It says he’s trying to prove a point.”
“What point would that be?” she asked.
“That he’s an arrogant dick.”
“So are you sometimes.”
“I’m not having sex with him,” I shot back.
