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Kyle snickers and shares a look with Steven. “Hanging out.”
My cheeks heat. Oh dear…how did I end up at a table with my brothers and father where everyone knows I’m talking about sex? “New topic,” I say hastily.
Kyle snorts, and I don’t hate it—joking and talking with them is nice even if I’m embarrassed. Our food comes and we move to more comfortable topics while we eat.
When we rise to leave, Kyle wraps me in a hug and squeezes lightly. My heart stutters because I never knew how much I wanted him to love me until this moment. I hug Steven and my father, and then I head home, feeling more optimistic about my relationship with my brothers than I’ve felt in years.
I should be the happiest I’ve ever been…and I am.
Work is excellent.
My relationship with my brothers seems to be on the mend. Kyle started a group chat with Steven, Kelsey, and I while they were in New York, and they sent me a ton of pictures and commentary—to the point that I almost felt like I was there, too.
My mother texts me almost every day. She’s even hinting that she’s dating again.
My life is good.
I won’t admit I’m lonely, because saying it would make it true.
However, I won’t deny that I am very grateful when Kelsey unexpectedly shows up at my door. She enters my apartment in a cloud of Chanel No. 9 and flops onto my sofa.
“Cam is out of town, and I needed a sister day,” she tells me.
“I need a sister day, too,” I admit as I sink onto the cushion next to her.
She digs around in her bag and pulls out a fitness magazine. “Have you seen this?”
“Thirty-two ways to cut tummy fat,” I read the headline and then look down at my sweatshirt dress. My stomach looks perfectly respectable when covered by two layers of fabric. “Are you suggesting I need to start exercising?”
She shakes her head. “Open it.”
She’s had a couple of national campaigns lately, so I flip open the magazine expecting to see her smiling face. Instead, a half-naked Slater Jones fills the page.
“Holy shit.” I almost drop the magazine.
“He’s even hotter without a shirt. It’s practically criminal.”
“I know.” My temperature rises.
“I can’t believe you slept with him.” I can’t believe it, either.
His chest, my version of kryptonite, is bare for all the world to see. Something that feels an awful lot like jealousy wells up inside of me. I try to ignore it.
“Hell,” Kelsey says as she studies me. “You’re in love with him.”
My eyes narrow as I prepare to refute her claim. “Possibly.” My hand flies to my mouth. Abort. Abort. Abort. “I mean, no. Of course I’m not in love with him!”
She flings her head back and stares at the ceiling. “It’s my fault. I wanted you to have a little fun. I thought I was helping. I ought to know better.”
Why is she so dramatic? And why did I just hint I might be in love?
“It’s just…” I lean back. “I like him. He worries he isn’t good enough—I can relate to that. And he seems tough and fearless, but he’s actually more emotional than you.”
She throws me a look. “I’m pretty sure that was an insult.”
“It wasn’t.” Being emotional isn’t a bad thing—passion fuels greatness.
She groans dramatically. “I told you to sleep with him. I pushed you together, so it is my fault you caught feelings. He’s married to football. What was I thinking?”
