Page 25 of The Killer Card

"Do you have any siblings, Gray?”

I nearly jump out of my fucking skin when Naomi leans over the back of the stool next to me. “Coño, Dios mío!” I clutch at my chest, glaring when she cackles. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “You’re not even forty yet and in better shape than half the men in my graduating class, calm down.”

“Sexy men die in their sleep all the time.”

“And you are awake,” she reminds me with a smirk that draws out my own. “That means you’re safe. May I?”

I pull out the seat next to me and she takes it, ordering a gin martini with a twist. “So,” she asks after taking a sip. “Siblings?”

Sucking at my teeth I ask, “Why the sudden interest in my personal life? You were rather hasty to get away from me two weeks ago.”

She gives me a look. “I told you, I already had a scheduled date and you’re lucky I’m indulging your desire for friends. So,” she picks up her glass. “Let me indulge. Siblings?”

I sigh, nodding. “Yes, I have one sister. Older.”

“Oh, that sounded bitter.” She raises a brow, crossing her legs as if she plans to be here with me a while. My heart does a little somersault of hope. “Do you two not get along?”

Shaking my head, I reach for my whiskey. “I wouldn’t say that. We haven’t spoken in over twenty years. We neither get along nor fight.”

She blinks. “Twenty years?!” I nod. “What on Earth happened between you that you haven’t spoken since you were—”

“That I’m afraid,” I interject with a forced smile. “Is a story for another time.”

Naomi’s eyes narrow but when I don’t add to my explanation even under her probing stare, she drops it, turning back to her drink. “What about the rest of your family? Do you speak to them?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t own a Ouija board.” She snorts, nearly spitting out her drink and glares at me when I burst into laughter, but she can’t hide the quirk of her lips at my joke. “I’m sorry,” I hand her a napkin, still chuckling. “I take only the punpertunities handed to me.”

“You’re an idiot,” she shakes her head, wiping her chin and using her phone to fix her lipstick.

I order her a fresh drink. “I do have some distant family in Venezuela,” I tell her. “But we don’t speak often. We were never close.”

“I see.” She leans back in her seat, assessing me slowly. Every inch of my skin is on fire under her gentle perusal, as if it’s her fingers skimming over my skin beneath my suit. Is it sad that just her focus makes me hard? “So, it’s just you, Elias, and Rowan?”

“Pretty much.” I shrug. “They’re the only family I need. Unless you’re ready for me to get down on one knee—”

“Slow your roll there, pretty boy.” She holds up a hand between us. “We are barely friends.”

“Right… And what about your family—"

“A story for another time.” If she hears the disappoint in my sigh- the drop of my heart into my ass- she says nothing. Instead, she pivots the subject to, “So, Cristian is Elias’ son.”

I’m still fucked up over that revelation.

Cristian- Elias’s whoopsie baby- was the boy we were all shit talking about. He’s the controlling asshole Poppy was trying to make money to get away from. It’s unfathomable to me. I mean, I fucking taught that kid how to play soccer- which I am proud to hear he still plays exceptionally well- and he decided to grow up into an asshole? Fuck him, he deserves the trauma of his dad stealing his girl.

They are perfect for each other though, in an almost fated kind of way. Everything that Elias missed out on because of Vivian and Cristian he is now able to experience with Poppy. All of the spontaneous dates, the dancing, the wining and dining he could never afford when he was younger. Don’t get me wrong, Elias has dated a lot of women, but none quite like Poppy. None that have inspired him the way she does. And through him she gets to be herself too.

It’s become apparent as we’ve gotten to know her that Penelope Hastings was never allowed to figure out who she really wanted to be. It was all just decided for her, and the decision was that she would be Cristian’s wife. But she loves to write, read, relax on the beach, and spend quiet nights in with her friends. She’s never once asked Elias to go to a country club or even a boutique. Sunday nights she’s either in a sundress or still in her bathing suit with one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts thrown over it. Elias gives her the simplicity she craves and she keeps him young.

Like Naomi, I’m temporarily ignoring the awkward energy between Clara and Rowan. They can figure that shit out on their own, we all know they’re inevitable. I just wish I wasn’t the only one who knows Naomi and I are also inevitable.

“You know, you could have mentioned his name at any point and saved us all of this trouble,” I point out.

“As could you,” she retaliates. “Elias’ son this and Elias’ son that. You all avoided using his name in any manner of conversation, as if the taboo would summon him into existence.”

“It hurts him,” I defend my friends on instinct. Naomi’s eyes soften just a little. “We never mention Vivian by name because she’s a raging cunt, but we don’t mention Cristian because it makes Elias shut down. He gets quiet and distant and then calls the kid eleven times an hour until one of us decides to take his phone away.”