Page 63 of Only Between Us

Other than Shy, I hadn’t had the heart to tell any of them that Brooks and I are faking it. Explaining it to Mom would require telling her I’d been struggling at the shop, and I couldn’t stand to disappoint her after everything she and Dad have done for me. All it took to get her excited about the supposed relationship was assuring her that the media had it wrong. That I hadn’t been hiding the relationship from her for nine months. That we’d met that day at the stadium and hit it off.

“In love with a fine piece of—”

“Carla!” we all shout-whisper, trying not to wake Rosie.

Carla cackles dramatically, proud to have gotten a rise out of us. She shuffles the deck of cards and starts dealing. “Tell us about Brooks, honey. Is he treating you well?”

Shy smirks. “Yeah, Cee. Tell them about his amazing dance chops.”

That little bitch. I knew I’d regret telling her about that.

“Brooks is…”Jerking off in a coat closet for me to watch, then asking me to lick him clean.“Sweet. He fixed my front door the other day.”

Evan looks up from his hand. “What was wrong with your door?”

“I couldn’t get it to lock for a couple of months.”

“For shit’s sake, Siena.” He sighs heavily, like I’m the cause of every headache he’s ever had. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping in that place with an unlocked door for months. Why didn’t you call me?”

“It’s fine. I didn’t want to be a nuisance.” Evan’s bearded faceturns ruddy at my words, and I hurry to talk him down, throwing up my hands. “It’s fixed now! Brooks took care of it.”

Evan grunts, still steaming in disapproval. “And if someone had come in while you were sleeping?”

A grin breaks over my face. “Ev, I’ve been sleeping with a steak knife next to my bed since I was nine, just in case. I don’t need saving.”

You could hear a fucking pin drop.

I never knew who Patricia and Tyler Pippen had invited over on a given night, and I was wary enough to make sure I had the means to protect myself. There were only so many times someone could stumble into my makeshift room in the basement, supposedly looking for the bathroom, before things went south.

I guess not everyone can laugh at my history the way I do, but it’s much preferrable to the alternative—wallowing over things I can’t change. They’d eat me alive if I gave them the room to.

Mom runs her fingers soothingly through my hair, though I have a feeling it’s more for her sake than mine. To this day, she has a hard time hearing about the way I grew up before I joined her family.

“Guys, I’m kidding. I’ve never once slept with a knife. We can all take a breath and get back to this riveting cribbage match.”

They don’t believe me, but return their intense focus on the game as Brooks’s name flashes at the top of my screen.

BRATTWOOD:I was kidding.

BRATTWOOD:Sort of.

I read through our messages. The previous two from Brooks that went unanswered, after I’d asked about the shirts he’d snuck into my bag. My silence was clearly making him sweat.

BRATTWOOD:You don’t have to wear my shirt to bed.

BRATTWOOD:But you still need to shred his.

BRATTWOOD:Kidding. Again.

BRATTWOOD:Kind of.

I laugh at my screen. It’s the same kind of digital word vomit hedid in my DMs in the days after we met. It’s as charming now as it had been then.

SIENA:I tossed his shirt this morning.

And I fully intended to wear one of Brooks’s tonight. Without washing them. Because, frankly, they smell divine.

BRATTWOOD:Yeah?