Page 9

Vivienne

I stand in the middle of my blissfully silent living room looking between the knockoff Peloton I bought with my first big girl check and the book sitting on the arm of the comfiest chair known to man.

It's a tug-of-war between what I should do and what I want to do.

The school year is almost over, and preparations for our programming to switch over from after school to day camp are well underway. Which means I've been extra busy with staffing and planning on top of everything else, like the six-foot-four catcher taking up space in my office a few days ago.

My teeth seesaw over my lip as I take a tentative step toward the bike. I could always read later, but when I give the embossed flowers on the cover one last parting glance, the switch flips and I think fuck it . What the hell was the point of moving out here, building this life for myself, if I don't do what I really want to?

The bike can wait. I want the serotonin that comes from reading a romance novel.

Channeling the same energy the kids had earlier, I dive into the chair, crack open the pages, and try to ignore the fact that I keep picturing the male lead with red hair even though it's brown.

I'm lost in the story, doing my very best version of male narration--extra bravado coloring my voice with the building tension. I'm so focused on my amazing cowboy impression when I say, "Hands on the hay bail, darlin'," that I don't hear the door open.

I tilt my head back and laugh at how ridiculous I sound, but it's abruptly cut off by the scream I let loose when I find Tenley staring down at me from where she's standing behind the chair, barely containing her laughter.

"What the hell, Ten! Why are you creeping around?"

"Don't stop, it was just getting hot. And you know I love a cowboy romance." Tenley leaps into the oversized chair next to me, sticking her nose right in my book. "Oh shit. That's, like, really good. Should I leave you alone?" She thumbs over her shoulder.

I slam the book shut, my cheeks already flushed from the reading. "No. This can wait. Tell me about your day."

"I got the job!"

The joy vibrates off of her, and even though I might not have been thrilled with the idea of her nannying for Xavier, there's no chance I'd stand in the way. She's beaming, her big smile glowing brightly, so instead of warning her about all the ways this could go wrong, I wrap my arms around her.

"Congrats. I'm happy for you." Stifling her by placing my own expectations on her would trap her in the same way I felt trapped when I was younger. I still have concerns about how this is going to work during the school year, but for now, I'll stay quiet.

"I start next week. He's going to have me watch Holland during the gala."

How had I forgotten that I'd have to see him at the gala and why is he suddenly everywhere I am? Tenley bumps my shoulder, sensing my tension, and I relax.

"Speaking of the gala . . ."

I groan in exasperation, knowing exactly where this is going.

"Do you have a date?"

"It's a work thing, not a social outing," I justify.

Tenley rolls her eyes, scoffing. "Do you at least have a semi-unprofessional dress? It is still a gala. You can't wear a high-neck sheath dress."

"Can't I?"

"Not unless you want to look like you get a monthly clothing allowance from Ann Taylor. And is that really the look you're going for? Think about all the potential sugar daddies . . ." She hums. "Baseball players and wealthy donors."

I cock my head in confusion. "And why the hell would I want a sugar daddy?"

"You made it pretty clear you don't want to date, but I thought you might enjoy a mutually beneficial pairing." She says it like it's a totally normal suggestion.

While I've succeeded in raising her to be a functioning adult, society and social media said, "Hold my beer and watch this."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're slightly unhinged?"

"Nope. But my aunt nurtured my creative imagination growing up. So, who's really to blame for the way I turned out?"

"I have no regrets." Truthfully, she's the coolest person I know, even if she sometimes lacks boundaries.

"So you'll let me pick out your dress?" We bump into each other as she bounces next to me, half-turned in my direction and hands clasped in front of her chest.

"That's a bold leap."

"But will you?" Cue the puppy dog eyes.

"Fine."

Her smile widens, and she falls back against the cushions dramatically. I never planned to say no, but it's more fun to make her think it's a possibility.

When she's done making a show of sighing in relief, her grin turns from elated to devious. "And hair and makeup? Wait and see. You're going to look so hot when I'm done with you."

"Hey, that was rude."

"Don't act all hurt. You know as well as I do that you always look gorgeous. I'm just going to help you kick it up a notch--do a full beat. Oh! Some shimmery green eyeliner on the inside corners. Yes, that's what you need."

As she skips off to her bedroom to make a list, I mentally prepare myself for the hours of prep she's going to put me through.

Although, doing something lavish for myself sounds nice, I'll give her that.