Page 45 of Seale the Deal

I mean, it’s adorable, she adds as I take the wine. But you don’t have to lay it on thick in front of me. I know it’s fake.

Ruger sighs. Got any beer instead of this crap? He gestures at the wine.

In the fridge.

Ruger makes his way down the hall, saying over his shoulder, Smells decent in here.

Remi narrows her eyes at the space he occupied. Lasagna Florentine, which you’ve eaten and enjoyed before. She looks at me. Come on, you can help me with dinner.

I follow Remi into the kitchen, where Ruger is leaning against the counter, his fingers curled around the neck of a dark glass bottle, the cap already discarded. He takes a sip, and I try not to watch the slow tilt of his throat as he swallows. It’s just beer. Just a man drinking a beer.

Why does it look like a thirst trap?

Remi opens the oven and adjusts the pan inside. The scent of cheese, herbs, and toasted breadcrumbs rushes out, making my stomach growl.

She closes the oven. Not quite done, she announces. Can you make the salad? She tosses a bag of greens and a wooden bowl on the counter.

Salad when we’re already having spinach? Ruger asks.

If you complain, I’m going to make my lentil loaf again. Remi points a cucumber at him.

That sounds delicious, I say at the same time Ruger mutters, I’d rather eat my boot than try and force that down again.

Then his phone starts to vibrate. He pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen.

It’s Brandt calling from camp. He pushes off the counter and wanders into Remi’s living room, where he plants himself on her bright orange corduroy sofa.

Ooh, Brandt. I nudge Remi.

Shh, she says, peering over her shoulder. Ruger doesn’t know he and I—

Are fucking?

She nudges me again, trying not to laugh.

Do you really think he’d be upset about it?

She shrugs. Not upset as much as temporarily weirded out. Her nose wrinkles slightly. I mean, your best friend sleeping with your sibling is objectively a strange concept. I just feel like it’s best not to tell him since there is nothing to tell.

Her words instantly make me hyperaware of the fact that just hours ago, I was enjoying having my arms wrapped around her brother. Even right now, as I’m thinking about him, my stomach keeps doing weird little somersaults.

Wrenley? Remi says slowly. Why are you making that face?

What face? I ask too quickly. There’s no face.

Okay, Remi says, clearly unconvinced.

I grab my wine. I’m just thinking about how there’s a whole man in your life I know almost nothing about outside of what you do together.

Nice recovery.

Remi still eyes me suspiciously before relenting. Not much to say, she says. He’s Ruger’s friend. From Montana. Tall. Handsome. Twenty-six.

I gasp dramatically. Remington Seale. You cougar.

We’re both adults. She grabs a knife and cuts through radishes harder than she needs to.

I put my hands up. I’m not judging.