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He looks at me. Really looks at me. “Good call, twinsie. You’re not looking so good, Nic. What’s up?”
“Yeah, Nic.” Jessie smirks. “What’s up?”
For a split second, I wonder what would happen if I said it.I’m unbalanced because I fucked Jessie in the shower this morning and I know I shouldn’t, but I want to do it again.I’d love to see the look on Jessie’s face if I said it.
I have no clue what Timothy would do—laugh, probably—but Jessie would kick my ass. I can’t say it, though, because even if Timothy was cool with it, he can’t keep his big mouth shut. Every Foley in the state would know about it before dinner. The whole thing would be blown out of proportion and when the dust settled, everything would be different. I can’t lose this family. I can’t lose my best friend.
“Nothing’s up,” I mutter.
Timothy finally takes pity on me. He snags four bottles of champagne and jerks his chin for me to follow him downstairs.
“We’re not going to drink any of this,” he tells me as he makes space in the bar fridge for the champagne.
I stow the bottles of red wine on a rack that probably ended up down here because Celia didn’t like it. “Someone might want wine.”
Timothy closes the fridge and pats his pockets. A slow smile spreads across his face. “Oh no. I left my phone in the kitchen. Go grab it for me?”
I give him a look to let him know I know what he’s up to—even though I hope to god he’s not up to anything—and head back upstairs.
Jessie doesn’t look at me, but the whole-body sigh she does when I walk into the kitchen lets me know exactly what she thinks about seeing me again so soon.
Timothy’s phone isn’t on the island. Or any counter in the kitchen. “Have you seen Timothy’s phone?” I ask.
“Over here,” Mina says absently.
Of course, it is. Now I have to walk into striking range of Jessie’s glue gun. If I’m not careful, she’ll glue a pink rhinestone dick to my forehead, like the one she’s gluing on…
I’m too late.
Timothy’s leather phone case has half a completed pink rhinestone dick on it.
“I’ll take this,” I say, leaning over her, reaching for it.
She bats my hand away. “I’m not done.”
Timothy won’t be mad about a dick on his phone case—if anything, he’ll love it—so I don’t know why I grab Jessie’s wrist. When she brings the glue gun toward me, I grab her other wrist. She bumps her chair back against my body, but I hold on. Her eyes when she looks up at me are smoldering and I forget all about Timothy’s phone.
This spark between us isn’t over yet, whatever it is.
“Aw,” Mina says, leaning on the table, a goofy grin on her face. “This is like that scene in Ghost. Only with a glue gun and rhinestone dicks instead of clay.”
I release Jessie and step back, hands in the air.
“No, no,” Mina says, delight in her eyes. “Don’t stop on account of me.”
“Finish the phone case,” I say to Jessie, crossing my arms.
Jessie goes back to work, but Mina’s attention is fixed on me. Not good.
“What have you boys got planned for tonight?” she asks.
“Poker.”
Jessie laughs. “Well, you’re fucked.”
So, so fucked.
“Here,” Mina says, holding a piece of paper out to me. It’s Mina’s handwriting—neat and small, not Jessie’s loops and flourishes. “Read it. Let’s see if Jessie can guess what you are.”
