Page 11 of Irreconcilable Attractions (Westwend Boys #1)

Derek

“I swear, if he turns out to be a serial killer, I will say I told you so at your funeral.” Lucy’s voice came through over the speaker of my phone, her spinning ceiling fan the only visual on our FaceTime call.

I propped my arm behind my head while I leaned back against the wall, holding my phone out before me.

“Lucy,” I said with a sigh, “He’s not a serial killer.”

Her face popped into frame and she performed a classic eye-roll before brushing a blonde curl behind her ear.

“You don’t know that,” She quipped. “He could be luring you into a false sense of security. That’s, like, serial killer 101. Chapter one of the murder playbook.”

I returned the eye-roll to my younger sister.

“I’ve been living here for three days,” I reminded her. “Pretty sure if he was going to off me, he would have done it by now. If anyone’s going to murder me, it’s going to be Gerald.”

There was a short pause before she asked, “Who’s Gerald?”

I let out a huff of laughter, shifting so I could run my hand through my hair. “He’s a… sock. Colton keeps him on top of hi s dresser. He’s like a white ankle sock with googly eyes glued on. Kind of looks like a kid’s project, honestly. But, apparently he judges people.”

Lucy blinked at me.

“A sock. With googly eyes.” She repeated back, sounding mildly disturbed by that particular combination of words.

“Yeah,” I caught myself smiling, unreasonably amused, and I ran my hand over my jaw to hide it. “Colton kind of introduced him as if he was another roommate.”

“And you’re wondering why I’m worried you’re going to get murdered.”

“Okay, hearing it out loud does make it sound bad, but I promise you it wasn’t that weird. Just like… quirky.” I chuckled.

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what’s more concerning… The fact that the guy you’re living with clearly needs a psych eval, or that you’re just cool with it.”

“Oh, come on Luce,” I muttered, shaking my head, the smile not leaving my face. “It’s not that bad…”

When her blue eyes narrowed more, I held up a hand. “You know what? Forget it. I’m fine.” I assured her.

“Fine like that meme of the dog sitting in flames…” She grumbled.

Lucy was my younger sister and only sibling. We shared the same father but had different mothers. Not that it ever mattered to us. I was twelve when she was born, and from the moment her tiny, squirming body was placed in my arms, I was done for.

She was this reddish-pink little lump, wrapped up like a burrito in a hospital-issued blanket, and all I could think was ‘ I have to protect her ’. From then on, I made it my mission to be present. Always.

My parents were barely legal when I came along.

A baby out of wedlock felt like a scandal back then, so they got married in a hurry.

But that quick decision turned into years of quiet resentment, mostly on my mother’s part.

My dad tried to make it work, juggling college, a job, and a kid.

But I think the damage was already done.

My mother never forgave the timing of my birth.

By the time I turned six, they couldn’t look at each other without screaming. And then came the divorce.

Suddenly, I was a pawn in the middle of a war, dragged between courtrooms and told to say things about each of them that no kid should ever have to say.

In Texas, kids twelve and over are eligible for their own legal representation in divorce cases.

But under that, they don’t get a voice on who they want to live with or anything else regarding their care.

So at just six years old, I had no protection as I was being weaponized by two people who should’ve been shielding me from the storm.

That experience? That’s why I went into family law. Why I fought so particularly hard for the kids in my divorce cases. But, also why I hated divorce.

Eventually, my dad offered my mother a large settlement, courtesy of my grandparents, to give up custody.

She’d agreed and packed up to move to North Carolina before the ink had even dried on the divorce decree.

After that, I only saw her on select Thanksgivings and Christmases.

Her love came with a dollar sign, and once it was paid, she was gone.

A few years later, my dad met Toni, Lucy’s mom.

She was everything my mother wasn’t. Calm, soft-spoken, blonde with porcelain skin and kind blue eyes.

I loved her almost instantly. And she truly brought out the best in my dad.

He felt lighter, freer, happier , than he had my whole life.

It was like I was meeting him for the first time after Toni came into the picture.

When they got married, I’d finally felt like I’d been given a real mom and dad. And then Lucy came along.

Her chubby cheeks, gummy smile, and tiny fingers wrapped around mine and she owned me from day one. She deserved the best big brother in the world, and I was determined to deliver.

I brought pictures of her to school that first year of life, bragging about how cute and smart she was for her age.

I knew her milestones like I knew my school assignments.

I was present for every dance recital, cheer competition, and birthday party—even when I was drowning in law school.

Being there for her felt like rewriting history.

Like maybe, through her, I could give us both the childhood I didn’t have.

Lucy and I chatted for a few more minutes about college applications and this boy in her summer SAT-prep course that was ‘ major red-flags but also kind of hot ’ before I had to get ready for my day.

“Just promise me you won’t let this guy kill you in your sleep, okay? Or worse, borrow your socks without asking.”

“Duly noted.” I responded, still amused.

“I’m serious,” She retorted. “Text me later. I want updates. Vibes. Intel.”

“Will do, detective.”

“Have a good first day at work.”

“Thanks Luce, love you.”

She blew a kiss at the camera before the video call ended.

I set my phone down and scrubbed a hand over my face. Talking with Lucy always put me in a good mood, but my lack of routine overrode that. My set schedule before had been something like armor to me. Without it, I felt oddly vulnerable, like a hermit crab without a shell.

Getting dressed was a bit of a blur—dress shirt, slacks, tie. Clothes that were supposed to make me feel like I had my shit together.

It almost worked.

My morning at the firm went by in a haze of client files, phone calls, and a conversation with Charlie about how ‘ Westwend folks will cite the Constitution over brisket rights, but also believe your horse needs tail lights or you’re a menace to society ’.

I stopped asking questions after that.

By the time I realized I never ate lunch, it was already late afternoon. I leaned back in my chair, debating whether I should go back to the house or get something in town. I didn’t remember seeing a fast food joint. Maybe a cafe?

That’s when it hit me.

Bikini Beans.

This felt like the perfect opportunity to finally see Colton’s cafe, given it hadn’t been included on the tour. And maybe there was a part of me that wanted to see Colton in his element.

For observational purposes, of course.

Bikini Beans was located on a stretch of the river just off Main, making it easy to reach by foot or kayak, and also making it popular with locals and tourists alike.

Inside, it was surprisingly spacious and stylish, with a blend of antique red brick, whitewashed walls, and dark wood accents.

Edison bulb chandeliers cast a warm glow across the industrial ceiling and trailing vines softened the harsh lines of metal and wood.

There seemed to be greenery tucked into every corner, serving to remind everyone how interconnected nature was to this community.

The top half of the wall behind the counter was painted black with chalkboard paint and had impressively intricate drawings surrounding the menu. It was separated into two sections, with one for year-round items and another section for seasonal additions.

A bell over the door dinged as I walked through it, the scent of coffee hitting me full force and I greedily sucked in a lungful of the pungent aroma.

“Welcome to BBC, which stands for Bikini Beans Cafe!” Someone called from behind the counter, not looking up from the drink they were making. A loud hiss permeated the space.

I glanced around, thoroughly impressed by how the place looked. It wasn’t anything like how I’d pictured. It was far more put together than anything I’d imagined Colton owning. Far too clean . And it was surprisingly packed.

Making my way to the register, which was unattended, I stared at the menu while waiting to be served. The woman at the end of the counter finished the drink she was making, setting it out, and called a name before making her way to me.

She had long black hair that was pulled into a ponytail and blunt bangs that sat across her forehead.

There were multiple piercings through both of her ears, along with a hoop in her nose.

A thick black collar sat around her neck and her baggy black t-shirt featuring an anatomically correct spine came down nearly to her knees.

She wore a tight black-and-white striped long sleeved shirt under it.

It was all very… hot. As in temperature . She looked like she might melt in the Texas heat in all those layers.

Her name tag read ‘Chris’ and she gave me a charming smile as she tapped at the register’s screen.

“Hi! Welcome to Bikini Beans. What can I get you?”

“Is Colton here?” I asked.I’d done a perfunctory scan of the space but hadn’t seen him.

She cocked her head as her eyes narrowed. “What, are you a stalker?”

Heat rose up my neck and onto my cheeks.

“No,” I let out an uncomfortable laugh, “I’m his roommate, Derek.”

A flash of recognition came across her face as she pointed at me.