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“I’ll see you next week, though, right?”
I nod, all too aware of how I tower over her standing like we are. I don’t know why it matters.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I’ll see you next week.”
She surprises me by reaching out with her arms, and for the second time today, I’m subjected to the softness of her body pressing against mine. It’s nothing we haven’t done before. We’ve hugged a thousand times in our lives. There’s no reason for me to be so damn on edge. Maybe this really is weird, like she said. Maybe we just need time to readjust. Eventually, my brain has to catch up and remember that it shouldn’t be having all these weird thoughts about her. Right?
I hold my empty cup in one hand to loop my arm around her shoulders, returning the hug as the scent of her lavender shampoo and a lingering sweetness underneath it that must be all her assaults my senses, just as soft as she has come to be.
She really isn’t a kid anymore, I think distantly.
I have no idea what to do with that.
Jack is sprawled out on the living room couch when I get back to the apartment, his hair wet from what I assume is a recent shower and his arm in a different sling—lime green this time.
“How many of those do you have?”
He glances down at his sling. “I don’t know. Seven or eight, maybe? The standard ones are just navy or black. Shit is boring.”
“Heaven forbid,” I murmur, locking the apartment door behind me before heading to the fridge and grabbing a beer.
“How was the meeting?”
I unscrew the cap from the amber bottle, taking a drink before giving Jack a shrug. “It went okay. We got everything signed, at least. Molly made sure that I won’t be pushed into any shirtless nonsense at the last second.”
“Better not be getting naked around Dee,” he says with mock indignance. “How was she, anyway? Did you two catch up?”
I can only hope that my face doesn’t betray the twinge of guilt I feel when my mind immediately wanders to her dimple and her too-soft curves that shouldn’t even be on my radar. They aren’t on my radar, I chastise myself.
“We got coffee after the meeting,” I answer flippantly. “She told me a bit about her time in France.”
Jack makes a face. “Fucking hated it there. No one liked me!”
“Wow, that must have been a novelty for you.”
“Damn right it was. I’m lovable.” He juts out his chin in a way that reminds me of his sister. Now that’s an odd thought. “Dee had this douchey boyfriend for a while. I met him once when he came back for Christmas with her. God, he was a tool. He acted like wine drinking was some kind of religious experience and was appalled when I had the gall to offer him a Michelob.”
It makes no sense that I bristle at the mention of Lila’s past boyfriend—I’m sure she’s had several over the years, with as gorgeous as she’s grown to be. I tell myself it’s a lingering sense of protection for a pseudo–little sister. Even if it feels off.
“She seeing anyone now?”
Jesus Christ. What the fuck, Ian?
Jack arches an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Just realized I forgot to ask her,” I say as casually as I can muster. “No big.”
Appeased, Jack shrugs. “She hasn’t had a boyfriend for a while. Thank fuck. I hate thinking about some meathead boning my little sister.”
My shoulders tense.
Okay, this is getting ridiculous. What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
“Yeah, I hear you,” I toss back. “Weird that she’s not a scrawny kid anymore.”
“Tell me about it,” Jack huffs. “She turned into a Grade A hottie, which means I have to worry about dicks sniffing around her all the time.”
“Is it weird that you refer to your sister as a hottie?”
