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“Yeah, but his loss, honestly. Better to find out he has small dick energy now rather than later in the bedroom.”
I snort. “Always a silver lining.”
She stops abruptly and squints at me. “Wait a minute. Where are you?”
Inhaling a slow breath, I back away from the camera and show her the room.
“Holy fuck, are you...” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “In a guy's bedroom? Please tell me it's—”
“No,” I quickly say. “Before you freak out—”
My words are cut off by a knock on the door, and then Easton pokes his head in before I can answer. “Oh good, you're up. I'm making breakfast if...”
I swallow hard, and he finally notices my phone with my sister's wide-eyed expression.
“Oh shit, sorry. I shouldn't have barged in. If you're hungry, I'm making omelets.”
“Sure, I'll be down in a bit.” I flash him an easy smile, and he bows before closing the door behind him.
“I knew it!” Oakley squeals. “I fucking knew it, you little sleazy liar.”
I scoff at her choice of words but am not fazed by them. “Shush. It's not what it looks like, okay? There was a fire.”
“Wait, really? Where?”
“In the shop and our apartments. We barely made it out before it engulfed the entire building.”
“Oh my God, Tate. When did this happen? You didn't call me!”
“Yesterday morning, and I knew we'd talk today. Plus, I was too exhausted to explain everything. I saw Justin across the street, he came in, and Easton covered for me. Then in the middle of the night, the place erupted in flames.”
“That motherfucker. So where are you then?”
I tell her the rest of the story and reassure her that we're okay and safe now. Once she got over the initial shock, she went back to teasing me about being here with Easton. I first mentioned him when I settled in Florida and mistakenly told her he was an attractive younger man I'd let break my back.
She hasn't let me live it down.
“I want to see that coward asshole in an orange jumpsuit, handcuffed around his wrists and ankles, then thrown in a cell with alligators. Then after they've feasted on him, stick him in an electric chair that will burn off his skin and make his face melt down his half-dead body. In fact, I'd give my left tit to witness it,” she states confidently.
“Christ, Oakley. It's going to take years of therapy to scrub that image from my mind now.” I groan. She's always been an eccentric child, so I should be used to the frank shit that spews from her mouth, but sometimes, she still takes me by surprise.
“Which part? His death or my left tit?”
I scowl. “Smart-ass.”
“Oh, like you haven't thought of a hundred ways you'd like to see him die. I'm just bold enough to say it aloud. In fact, it's called manifesting. You should try it. Manifest his crude and painful death.” She gloats, pretending to sprinkle it into the air.
“I don’t want him dead. I just want to be left alone,” I state.
She gives me a pointed look.
“Okay, I'm gonna go now...” I linger uncomfortably, especially now that she knows Easton and I are basically stuck inside this house together. I know her thoughts are running wild and will soon come to the surface if I don't jump off this call. “I'm gonna go help Easton make breakfast before it gets too late.”
“You mean help him take off his clothes and ravish you all day? Okay, fine. Just tell me the details later. I wanna know length and girth.”
“Go take your meds for the delusions, okay?” I tease. “Love you, sis.”
“Love you too. Take care of yourself.” She says the same thing at the end of every one of our conversations.
“I will. Bye.”
She blows me a kiss, then I end the call.
Oakley is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Though she's not my child, I basically raised her as mine. My mother remarried when I was thirteen, and two years later, she had Oakley. I was overprotective of her, but somewhere along the way, the roles reversed. It's how she figured out something was wrong with me. And although I wouldn't confirm what was happening until after I left, she had her suspicions. It's why she'd encourage me to seek help even when I tried to convince her everything was fine.
I set down my phone, and when I walk downstairs, I'm greeted by Easton cooking in front of the stove. Between the view of his T-shirt hugging his biceps and the spicy veggies I smell, my mouth is drooling.
“Hey, morning. Sorry for interrupting you earlier. If you're hungry, I'm making my infamous Mexican omelets.”
“Oh, it's fine. And sure, I'll try some.”
I look down at the counter and see a mixture of veggies, seasonings, and cheeses. “Are those jalapeños?”
