“It’s a text. From…Brenna.” Jess puts on a high-pitched voice. “Blakey! I need that recipe for your famous Rippin’ Riley sangria!”
My sister doesn’t sound like that at all, but Jess doesn’t give me the chance to point that out. She just grumbles something else under her breath.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
The light at the intersection turns amber, and I slam my foot on the brakes harder than necessary, mostly because I want to stretch my arm out and across Jess’s chest to protect her from such an abrupt stop. An intentionally abrupt stop, but whatever.
“Oh my God! Did you just cop a feel?” she sputters.
“Of course.”
“Blake.”
I glance over. “What is it, baby?”
Aggravation flares in her brown eyes. “Don’t call me baby.”
“Okay, J-Babe.”
“Don’t call me that, either.” She thrusts both hands through her hair. “You know what? Pull over after this light.”
My dick does a happy dance against my zipper. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Not for that,” she screeches. “We…” She takes a deep breath. She seems to do that a lot when I’m around. I make her breathless. “We need to get a few things straight.”
Shit, I don’t like the sound of that. But I still do what she asks, pulling over the moment I see an empty stretch of curb. It’s a fire zone, so I leave the engine running in case we need to drive away quick-fast.
Jess starts saying ridiculous things the moment the car comes to a stop. “Here’s the situation, Blake. We’re not going out. We’re not having sex again. We’re not sexting or flirting or playing these weird games. We’re not anything, okay?”
“Are you playing hard to get?” I’m genuinely asking, because I’m genuinely not sure.
“No! I’m not! I—”
My phone buzzes again. “Hold that thought,” I cut in, because I see my sister’s name on the screen. Bethy, this time, reminding me that Brenna’s baby shower is coming up. Not that I’d forgotten—I’m about to become an uncle for the first time, and I’m totally pumped about it. My fingers are too big for this touch screen, so it takes longer than it should for me to text back a quick Duh. I’ll be there with bells on.
“Are you done?” Jess’s tone is lined with impatience.
“Sorry.” I drop the phone in the cup holder.
She takes another breath. “Look. I’m sorry I led you on at Jamie’s wedding. I shouldn’t have let you…uh…do stuff to me. It was good—”
“I do good work,” I say with a nod.
“—but it was a mistake.”
“Giving you orgasms is a mistake?”
“Yes, it is. Was. I won’t be falling into bed with you again, okay? I’m not in the right headspace to sleep with anyone right now. I’m starting a new school program. I’m in a new city I don’t know my way around yet. I need to buckle down and be serious for once in my life, and you, Blake, are not…um…”
“I’m not what? What’s so bad about hooking up with me again?” I challenge, just as my phone buzzes for a third time.
“Oh my God. Who is it now?” Jess snatches it from the cup holder, her lips tightening as she reads the message. “Britt wants to know if she can get an extra ticket for the next home game so she can bring her sorority sister Cassandra.” Growling, she slaps the phone in my hand. “That’s why I won’t hook up with you again. Three different chicks have texted you in the span of ten minutes! Three!”
I open my mouth to object, but she cuts me off again.
“You’re a player, Blake. You’re hands down the least serious person I’ve ever met in my life. You’re fun, I’ll give you that. But fun is the last thing I need at the moment. All I want to do is study my ass off and impress my instructors and keep my scholarship.”
Her little speech makes me bristle. Yeah, I get it. I’m fun. I like to laugh. I like to fuck. And why the hell not? Life is too damn short, and I want to enjoy every second that I have on this awesome planet. I want good food and fast hockey and hot girls and even hotter orgasms.
I tried the serious thing once before. I almost got married, and look where that almost got me. Serious is overrated.
Without a word, I move the gearshift and pull away from the curb.
“What, you’re mad at me now? Just because I was honest?”
“Honest?” I spare her a brief, smug look. “That wasn’t honesty, honey. That was you making excuses because you’re too freaked out by how much you want me. And PS? All those chicks who just texted? They’re my sisters, so you can retract those Jealous Jessie claws.”
Another glance reveals her expression to be a combo of frustration and sheepishness. “Your sisters?” she echoes dumbly.
“Yup. All three of them.”
“Brenna, Beth, Britt…and Blake. Did your parents stop watching Sesame Street after the letter B and didn’t realize there was more to the alphabet?”
I snicker. “That’s a good one. Remind me to tell it to my ma next time I see her.”