Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“She gets it from you.” I snort and set the lid on the pan, the heavy cast-iron clinking softly as it settles. I swing the pot-filler over an empty pot, turn the handle, water rushing into the pot.
“She most certainly does not.” There’s a pause on her end. “Why does it sound like you’re cooking?”
“Because I am cooking.”
Duh.
Obviously.
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“Can’t help it.” I laugh, tap the spoon against the pan, and set it on a plate next to the stove.
“What are you making?”
“Ragù.”
Attempting to, anyway.
“Excuse me? I thought you said you were making ragù.” More pausing. “You mean you’re heating it up from a jar?”
“No, I’m using Grandma B’s recipe.”
Silence. I can practically hear the wheels turning in that part of her sister brain that cannot let things go. She’s latching on now that she’s caught a whiff of something.
“Wait. Are you having company?”
“Yes.”
“Wait,” she says again. “FaceTime me, I want to see this.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on!” Sutton whines, trying to video chat. “Let me see.”
I decline and continue with my tasks: boiling water, stirring sauce, unthawing garlic knots.
“You never have company.”
“False. I have teammates over all the time.” Sometimes… At least once a year.
“Pfft. You order pizza.”
“So? I like pizza.”
“Well, who’s coming for dinner?” I imagine Sutton leaning against her kitchen counter now, arms crossed, pouting because I’m slow with information. “Tell me!”
“If I tell you, you’re going to tell Mom.”
“I promise I won’t.”
I hesitate, which she takes as a sign to ask a follow-up question.
“Is a woman coming over?”
“Bailey and I haven’t been broken up long.”
She gasps, calling me on my bullshit without calling me out on my bullshit. “Oh my god, you are seeing someone new.”
“Bailey and I were over long before we were over.”
“I’m not judging you—I think it’s great that you’re not going to… you know. Wallow in it.”
My sister is probably doing cartwheels in her kitchen at this news.
“Name a single time you’ve ever seen me wallow,” I challenge her, and my sister goes silent a few moments.
“That time your senior year of college when Mckenzie Sinclair dumped you the week before prom so she could go with Stan Cooper.”
I snort. “I couldn’t have given a shit about Mckenzie Sinclair.” Or the dance. Or Stan Cooper.
I grab a towel to wipe my hands.
“You liar! I heard you complaining about it to Mom.” Sutton lowers her voice so it sounds deeper. “‘I don’t understand why she said yes when I asked, if she wanted to go with him the entire time.’”
I had said that.
“You were eavesdropping!” I accuse her.
“I was gathering intel.”
“You were sixteen. Should I bring up the time you were crying because Davis Connelly asked you to be on Homecoming court with him, but his date was Stacia Metzger?”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.
“I liked him, you asshole.”
“You liked his Jeep.”
“So? It was a nice Jeep.”
We’re both laughing now, and I smile as I remove the cast-iron cover for the sauce. It bubbles nicely, simmering and getting thicker the longer I let it sit.
I shake my head. “For the record, Davis Connelly was a fucking tool, and you could do better.”
“Aww, you do love me.”
“I have no choice.”
“Rude! I’m telling Mom you said that.” Sutton giggles, and I hear a cabinet slam in the background, followed by what sounds like one of her kids asking for a snack. “Is this girl anything like Bailey, or is she normal?”
“Dang, Sutton.” I wince at her comment. “Shots fired.”
“I’m asking a legitimate question.”
I lean against the sink, gazing out through the windows at the city.
“Well?” she presses. “What’s she like?”
I don’t answer right away. “Not like Bailey.”
“Low bar.” She sniffles.
“You asked!”
“Give me more, please.”
I roll my eyes. “Her brother is one of my teammates, so she’s unaffected and unimpressed by all the shit that goes with it.”
“That’s good.”
“She’s sweet—genuinely a kind person.” The words feel strange in my mouth even though I’ve said them to Juliette; it’s weird saying them to my sister.
“To you?” Sutton pounces.
“To everyone,” I correct. “But yeah. To me, too.”
Sutton makes a small, scoffing noise. “Go on.”
“There’s not much to tell, we’ve only gone out once.”
“What’s her name?”
I hesitate to tell her, knowing Sutton is going to go all CSI down the online rabbit hole to find photos and information about Juliette. Considering I’ll be dumping her as soon as she’s head over heels in love with me, I keep her name to myself.
“Let me feel this out first; let’s not get everyone worked up about it—you know better than that.”
My sister grunts, disappointed, but she knows I’m right. Women come and go. No point looping the family in too early.
“I still think you’re gatekeeping.”
“You know I’m right.”
“Come on,” Sutton wheedles. “I won’t stalk her.”
“Yes, you will.” I laugh.
“You are no fun.” There’s a pause. “But you like her enough to cook her dinner from scratch.” She says it as if she’s not setting up a trap.