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What. The. Hell.
Dean’s reassuring hand on my back makes me remember who I am.
“Rebel, I can explain.”
“Can you? Can you explain why Daddy’s girl ditched the job interview that was presented to her on a silver platter?”
I shrink a little, but then I remember to put myself in Rebel’s shoes. “I know that was wrong. I should have just told Dad I didn’t want that job.”
“Yeah,” Rebel says. “And you should’ve spoken up before Dad made a fool of himself by calling up Mike and demanding to know why you didn’t get it.”
I realize how stupid I am in that moment, and I feel like my soul has left my body.
“I’m such an idiot,” I murmur to no one in particular.
“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Dean murmurs, his hand stroking my back.
Rebel’s face, which has been a mask of shock and exasperation, softens. “You’re not an idiot,” she says. “You just don’t know how to stick up for yourself.”
I sigh heavily and stand as Rebel crosses the room toward me. My older sister wraps me up in a hug and says, “But I gotta hand it to you, stealing Dad’s car was a nice touch.”
“I didn’t steal Dad’s car!” I shriek.
Rebel pulls away from the hug, laughing, and squeezes my shoulder. “Ghosting an interview, lying about it, then lying about where you are? Are you gonna try to tell the investigative duo that that’s not stealing?”
“I’m in trouble,” I groan.
My sister pats me on the head. “Don’t worry. They didn’t report the car missing or anything. But they did ask me to figure out how to find you. Investigative reporters who don’t even know how to find their own kid? They should revoke their Pulitzers. I think being in publishing made them lose their touch; I reminded them there’s no way the angel baby knows to turn off her phone locator.”
My eyes go wide. “You’re tracking my phone?”
Rebel rolls her eyes. “No, dumb-dumb. You use the same login and password everywhere—which is a terrible idea, by the way, and we’re going to talk about that later—so I just logged into your laptop and ta-da, there you were.”
I am astounded that she went to all this trouble and came all this way. And also a little disturbed. “You know my password?”
“My sweet baby sister. So trusting. Too pure for this world.”
Dean grunts softly in agreement, his hand rubbing over my back. My nerves settle a little.
Rebel’s pinched gaze slides over to Dean. “Speaking of too pure for this world, who the hell are you, and what are you doing with your hands all over my sister? What are you, 45?”
Somehow, this line of questioning helps me discover the backbone I didn’t know I had. Stiffly, and a little defensively, I step forward. “Rebel, this is Dean, the owner of the store and my boss. He’s also my boyfriend, and he’s allowed to touch me as long as I’m okay with that, and he’s not 45. He’s 35. Not that his age is any of your business. I’m a grown-ass woman.”
Rebel takes a step back. “Wow. Okay, okay, absorbing a lot of information, real quick here…” She exhales sharply and wags her hands in the air, fighting with her emotions. “When? How? And why would you not tell me you were dating a gamer dork?”
“He’s not a dork,” I bark back.
The guys all laugh. “No, he’s a dork,” Forrest puts in.
“Total dork,” says Rhys.
I look over at Dean, who shrugs. “That’s fair.”
Then I remember something from earlier. “How do you and Rhys know each other?”
Rebel’s face is blank. “I don’t think I do.”
Rhys scoffs. “ I don’t look that different, do I?”
