Page 18 of Fire

“You’re such a fucking baby,” she mutters with amusement before I hear the toilet flush and the faucet start. I make my way to the kitchen to start some much-needed coffee. As I begin to scoop coffee grounds into the machine, Presley reemerges from the bathroom and begins to rummage through my fridge like the mooching little sister she is.

“Don’t you have food at your place?” I ask as soon as I see her pulling out eggs and a block of cheese.

“I mean, sure. But why waste it when I could just eat yours?”

She cracks two eggs into a bowl and then reaches for a third. I give her a dirty look as I watch her separate just the whites and add them to the bowl. “That was like five bucks of egg yolks you just tossed down the garbage disposal.”

She rolls her eyes. “It was not, and it’s not like you’re hard up for cash, Hen.”

“Oh, right. I forgot. Dad gave me a raise. I’m now getting six figures to fetch his coffee and answer the damn phone.” She doesn’t miss the sarcastic tone in my voice.

“It’s not like I’m making bank managing the bar, and I swear half my income goes to rent. At least you don’t have a house payment, thanks to Z.”

Yeah, okay. She’s got me there. Another perk of having a rock star best friend? Zander and I used to co-own this place, andwhen he moved out to marry Elena, he insisted on paying off not just his share but mine too. So here I am, in a modest three-bedroom house in the LA suburbs worth more than it has any right to be, and it’s bought and paid for. In cash.

“I think you can spare a few eggs for your loving sister, whose only reason for showing up today was to make sure you were safe.”

“Only reason?”

“Okay, the food may have been an added bonus. The Starbucks near my apartment was insane. I swear, half of LA County must have been there. And you know how I get without coffee in the morning.”

“Well, if you’re gonna eat all my food, at least make me some.”

“Egg sandwiches okay?”

As long as I didn’t have to make it. “Sure.”

She continues to flit around my kitchen, and now that the coffee is brewing, I choose to get out of the way and take a seat on one of the stools at the island. She’s dressed much like me—weekend casual—in a pair of dark-gray sweats and a hoodie. Her blonde hair is piled on her head in a messy bun, highlighting the tiny cluster of stars she has inked behind her ear.

“So what happened to you last night?” she asks over her shoulder as she flips the burner on and drops a few dollops of olive oil into a pan. “And I don’t want details if it isn’t PG.”

I laugh becausesame. Presley is only two years younger than I am, and we’ve always been tight. Growing up, we shared everything: toys, friends, secrets. But right around high school, when our guy friends started to realize that Presley was an actual girl and Presley, in turn, did the same with our guy friends, was around the time we agreed maybe we don’t shareeverythinganymore.

Because there are some things you just don’t want to know about siblings.

The details of their sexual exploits are at the top of that list. Honestly, that pretty much makes up the entirety of the list.

“I went to an engagement party last night and reconnected with a girl from college,” I explain, leaving Edwin’s name out of the explanation because I don’t need that conversation this morning. “I, uh, was going to bring her by the bar, but?—”

She raises a hand. “You hooked up instead. No need for further details.”

I wasn’t going to offer any, but that doesn’t stop my mind from conjuring them. I swallow hard as every detail comes rushing back.

The awkward trip up to her apartment, where I started to second-guess myself. She literally just got divorced. The ink was barely dry.

A better man would turn around.

But this was Zara Valentine.

The one girl from college that I always wanted but could never have.

The one girl who always turned me down was now saying yes.

I would be an idiot to walk away, right?

So I followed her inside.

And the rest of the night was…