Thinking About You

by Monica Murphy

  Ew.

  “George seems quite taken with her,” I say, purposely trying to drive her crazy, which is cruel of me, but please. She can’t be with George. He’s my brother. What if it doesn’t work out? I don’t want to be caught in the middle of their sordid affair, because that’s all it would end up being.

  A sordid affair. Most definitely.

  My mother wouldn’t allow it either. She hates Evie. And Evie hates her. Why in the world would she want to be with my older brother when he is constantly seeking the approval of his mother?

  “She’s absolutely beautiful,” Evie says, her voice low, and when I send her a sharp look, she shrugs helplessly. “I spied on you all in the sitting room.”

  “Peeking through the cracks of the doors?” I ask jokingly.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I did.” She starts pacing the room, running her fingers through her hair and tugging on the ends in seeming frustration. “She looks like a fucking model,” she practically wails.

  “She is rather tall.”

  “And gorgeous!”

  “Like a model,” I agree.

  Evie literally growls, her eyes flashing with anger when she stops to look at me. “You’re making this worse, you know.”

  “How? By agreeing with you that my brother’s girlfriend is gorgeous? What’s the big deal anyway, huh, Evie? Why do you care what George is doing or who he’s with? You’re not making much sense right now.”

  She completely ignores my questions. “Do you think George is in love with her?”

  “If he’s willing to bring her to meet our parents during their anniversary weekend, then yes. I do believe he is in love with her,” I say with complete honesty.

  “Oh God.” Evie makes her way to her bed, throwing herself on it like a lovesick teenage girl, lying on her stomach with her face buried in the pillow. “I can’t believe it,” she says, her voice muffled.

  “Evie.” I walk over to her bed and grab her arm, forcing her to turn so she can look at me. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

  She’s crying. Tough-as-nails, never-takes-any-shit, will-do-anything-to-help-me Evie, is helplessly sobbing right now. “It’s George.”

  “What about George?”

  “I think—” She takes a heaving breath, a little hiccup escaping her when she exhales. “No, I’m fairly certain that I’m in love with him.”

  I gape at her. No. Crushing on him? Sure. Feel a minor attraction toward him? That’s fine. Acceptable.

  In love with George?

  I think not.

  “How in the world are you in love with him? You two literally never speak to each other. Ever,” I say, pausing when I see the guilt flash in her eyes. “Are you two keeping something from me?”

  Evie sits up, her gaze imploring as she watches me. “We…we’ve hooked up a few times, me and George.”

  “Huh?” I’m not able to comprehend what she’s saying. “How?”

  “Do I really need to describe how two adults hook up, Susanna?” Ah, there’s the sarcastic Evie I know and love.

  “Of course not! Just…tell me how you two even crossed paths. I only thought you ever saw him when you were with me,” I say.

  “You’re right. I’ve only ever spent time with him when I’m with you or your family. I never even really thought about George, you know? He was just there.”

  It’s true. George could be like a shadow man sometimes. Always around, someone to count on being there, even if you never spoke to him. He’s quiet, like our father. Thoughtful. Patient. Again, like my father. Handsome, I suppose, though I’m not one to rattle on and on about my brother’s looks. He takes more after Father, with the rich brown hair that can flop in his eyes sometimes and a distinctive nose. Rather tall, over six feet, and lanky. He likes to run and cycle. A bit of a health nut, when I’d rather indulge in sweets. I don’t exercise at all, though I know I should…

  “…so I ran into him at a bar a few months ago. Some place that big-wig bankers hang out at, you know? The sort of place that’s dark and sleek and modern, and full of well-dressed blokes with their ties half undone and their hair a mess and eyes bleary after working ten hours straight staring at a computer screen,” Evie explains.

  “You go to those sorts of places?” I ask dazedly.

  “I live for those sorts of places. All of those uptight business gents looking to unwind. They’re usually full of passion,” Evie says.

  I do not want to think about my big brother being full of passion.

  “Anyway, I’m at one of those bars and I run into George. He’s with a group of friends and he invites me to join them,” she continues.

  “Wait a minute,” I say, interrupting her. “Were you alone?”

  She shrugs and looks away.

  “Evie,” I draw out her name like I do when I’m chastising her for doing something risky. “You shouldn’t go to the bars alone.”

  “You were busy, going on a date with some asshole,” she mutters, her description most accurate. Lately everyone I’ve gone on a date with has been an asshole—with the exception of Cannon. “I had no one else to hang out with.”

  My heart breaks a little at thinking of Evie lonely, and me not being there for her.

  She waves a hand, dismissing my worry. “Please. I’m fine. I found George, and he of course chastised me for being at a bar alone.”

  Pride fills me at thinking of George giving Evie a hard time about her poor life choices. Us Sumners do look out for our friends’ safety.

  “He started by scolding me like an old man, and I taunted him like a naughty girl, but after we grew tired of that façade, we started having a real conversation. He asked me questions. He actually seemed to—care.” She blinks at me, appearing a little dazzled. “I ended up talking with George for the rest of the night. His friends eventually abandoned him, and the bar slowly emptied out, until we were the last two sitting there, still engrossed in conversation. When we realized they were hoping to close up, he suggested we go have a late dinner together, and I agreed because I was starving.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Go on.”

  “We went to one restaurant not far from my place, but it was terribly crowded, and the wait was endless. We ended up going to another restaurant, a tiny little Asian place that had the most delicious food I’ve ever eaten. We shared plates, we sat close to each other, all cozy and a little drunk, and the next thing I knew, his hand was on my knee. He didn’t seem in a hurry to remove it, and the weirdest thing was, I actually wanted him to touch me.”

  Oh no. “Are you going to go into more detail?” I need to stop this conversation if she does.

  “Do you not want to hear all the details?” Evie asks, her expression pure innocence.

  “Not about my brother,” I say vehemently, making her laugh.

  “I won’t go into full detail, but we ended up going back to my flat that night and…hooking up.”

  I almost want to stick my fingers in my ears and chant gibberish to ward off her words. “God, did you two have—”

  “Sex? Not that night,” she admits.

  “Oh my God, you’ve had sex with my brother!” I practically shriek.

  Evie climbs out of bed, clasping her hand over my mouth. “Shush! They might hear you!”

  “So? They should hear you! God, you’ve gotten naked with my brother and now he’s here with his new lady friend and what he’s done is so wrong, Evie. Having the both of you here is going to muck things up very, very badly.”

  My head feels like it’s literally spinning at her confession. If George has had sex with my best friend, then why did he bring Priscilla here? Is she really his girlfriend? Is this some sort of game he’s playing?

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” I say, voicing my concern. And confusion. I rub my temples with my fingers. “This makes no sense.”

  “You’re right. It makes absolutely no sense. And I know my being here with George and his new—girlfriend mucks everything up. This
is why I didn’t want to come.” She points a finger at me. “I told you I didn’t want to be here. You should’ve listened to me.”

  I should’ve. I so should’ve.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to assess the situation logically. “Okay. So you’ve had sex with George. Big deal, right? It’s nothing serious between you two.”

  She’s quiet. Too quiet. I don’t like this.

  “I’ve had sex with your brother multiple times,” she finally says.

  I’m frowning so hard my forehead hurts. “Multiple?”

  She nods.

  “When you say multiple, do you mean more than twice?”

  “Oh yes,” she says with enthusiasm.

  Too much enthusiasm.

  “At least—ten times?” That sounds extreme, but when I count how many times Cannon and I had actual sex when he was here, it was at least ten times. Perhaps more.

  She nods again.

  I close my eyes. Take a deep breath. Count to ten before I open them again. “When was the last time you had sex with George?”

  “Hmm, last week, maybe?” She throws her hands up in the hair. “Yes, definitely last week. I don’t know why I’m being coy.”

  “Are you serious?” I’m screeching, but I can’t help it. This is all just so scandalous. “Then why is he bringing Lady Priscilla to the house and not you?”

  “He knows your mother will flip her shit if he ever brought me around as his girlfriend! Besides, he doesn’t call me his girlfriend. He claims we have an understanding,” Evie says.

  “Oh, that understanding thing is complete and utter shit, and you know it! How dare he?” Now I’m pissed at George on Evie’s behalf.

  “It’s what I thought I wanted too. You know how I don’t like labels,” she says, and she’s right. I do know how much she hates labels. She doesn’t want to be just any one thing. Evie’s always wanted to be all the things.

  “Right, but he’s not acknowledging that the two of you have a relationship,” I explain, hoping that she realizes just how much of a jerk George is being.

  “It’s not a relationship. He’s not my boyfriend. It is an understanding. We’re doing it just for the sex,” she insists, but her eyes are starting to well up with tears again, and I’m afraid there’s more than sex involved here.

  Sounds like there are honest to goodness feelings.

  And I’m afraid Evie’s going to end up with a broken heart.

  I’m getting ready for dinner when my phone rings with a FaceTime call from Cannon. I rush to grab my phone, terrified I’ll miss the call and then I’ll be unable to get a hold of him, and when his handsome face fills my screen, my heart trips over itself in happiness.

  “Cannon,” I say breathlessly.

  “Sus,” he returns with a big grin. “You look beautiful.”

  Now my heart swells to three times its size. “Thank you. Getting ready for dinner.”

  “Where are you?”

  “My parents’ house, remember? Evie and I are here for the weekend.” I switch the angle of the camera so he can see the room. “This is my old bedroom. Evie and I are sharing it.”

  “Where is she at?”

  I flip the phone camera back around so it’s my face once again. “Taking a shower.” She just got in, after I spent at least thirty minutes trying to convince her that yes, she absolutely has to come down for dinner tonight, or it would look weird. And it would give George the sense that he won.

  I’m not going to let him win this. No way.

  “So you’re alone?” Cannon raises his brows.

  “Yes, but I’m not going to dirty talk with you or expose myself. Not here,” I tell him, making him laugh.

  “I wasn’t going to ask you to do any of that stuff, though I do miss you and wouldn’t mind seeing that pretty little body of yours,” he says longingly.

  My skin goes warm at his sweet words. “We should set up another video date.”

  “We should.” He takes a deep breath, exhaling loudly before he announces, “I got hurt yesterday.”

  “Wait, what? What do you mean?” Now my heart is racing. This man puts me through all the emotions in a short amount of time, and it’s almost too much to handle.

  “I was at practice, running on the field and I don’t know, my knee just—gave out.” He shrugs. “Hurts like a bitch.”

  “No one tackled you or anything?” I still don’t know much about American football or how it works. I try to watch his games, but most of them aren’t broadcasted here, so it’s difficult.

  “No, I was by myself. Well, I wasn’t by myself, but no one else was around me when it happened. I had trouble with my knee back in high school, and even had to have surgery the summer after my sophomore year. But I thought it was fixed. Never gave me any problems until now,” he says.

  “Where are you? Are you at home?” I don’t think so. None of his surroundings look familiar.

  “I’m in a hotel room. In Arizona. We play the Cardinals tomorrow.”

  “Are you playing in the game?”

  “I want to, but I don’t know if they’re going to let me.” He looks so sad, so disappointed, and I wish I were actually there to comfort him.

  “I’m sure they’ll let you play,” I say, my voice falsely bright. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, I’m sure of it. Did they give you anything to help with the pain?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m wearing a brace and they gave me a cortisone shot, and they gave me some painkillers, though I really don’t want to use them. My knee is swollen, and they said they’re going to get me in for an X-ray or a CT scan tomorrow or Monday. I don’t know.” The frustration is clear in his voice, on his face. “I just don’t want this injury to end my career.”

  Fear makes my voice tremble. “Is it that bad?”

  “They’re thinking it could be pretty bad,” he admits.

  I feel like he’s putting on a brave face so I won’t worry. He’s telling me the things he wants me to hear, what he wants to believe, but it’s not the whole truth.

  “I wish I was there with you,” I whisper.

  He smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which tells me he’s extremely worried. “I wish you were too. Though I don’t think there’s much you could do for me.”

  “I could rub your shoulders. Fix you your favorite foods,” I suggest.

  “You can cook?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Not really.”

  He laughs, and the sound eases my worry. I love it when he laughs. “You really can’t cook, Sus?”

  “Not particularly. My mother never taught me how, because we have cooks on staff,” I say.

  “Just how rich are you?”

  I never did divulge much about my family’s financial status. “We’re one of those rare nobility lines that actually has money versus just a title and a crumbling estate. The Sumner men have worked in finance for generations,” I tell him. “They invest wisely.”

  “So that makes you worth some money.”

  “We have some money, yes.”

  “That’s why you only work part-time.”

  “It was a volunteer job at first,” I admit, making him chuckle. “What, it’s true! I’ve always loved art, and was an art history major in college.”

  “Did you graduate?”

  “No.” I feel a little helpless at admitting this. “I haven’t accomplished much in life.” I sound morose, only because I’m ashamed. He’s done so much with his life in such a short amount of time and I’ve done…

  Absolutely nothing.

  “Hey, don’t be down on yourself. I think you’re pretty awesome.” He smiles, and seeing it brightens my whole mood.

  “Thank you. Here you are injured and worried and you’re trying to make me feel better,” I say.

  “It’s what I do.” He leans in so I can see his face even better, and I’m filled with the need to kiss him. That he’s thousands of miles away is a true obstacle. “How are your parents?”

  “It’s their thir
tieth wedding anniversary tonight,” I say. “And I forgot.”

  “So you didn’t bring them a gift?”

  “No, I did not. I am their gift. The gift that keeps on giving.”

  “I’d like to think you’re my gift,” he says, his voice dipping low, his eyes getting that sleepy, sexy look I know and love.

  Love. The word keeps popping up in my thoughts, and I should be a little freaked out, right?

  But I’m not.

  “You’re definitely my gift,” I return, my voice soft, my heart fluttering from the admission. “And this weekend is going to be interesting. There’s so much I already have to tell you about it.”

  “Tell me now.”

  I hear the shower water shut off down the hall—yes, the walls are extremely thin—and know I don’t have much time before Evie’s back in the room. And then I can’t tell Cannon anything. “How about I call you tomorrow, when I return from my parents’ place?”

  “I’ll call you. I have the game tomorrow, and it could be hectic.” He hesitates, a frown curling his perfectly sexy lips. “Though by the time I’m through with everything, you might be asleep.”

  “Call me anyway. I want to talk to you.” I smile, the corners trembling as I’m overcome with emotion. “I miss you. So much.”

  “I miss you too, baby.” He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair. “Send me good luck vibes for tomorrow. I need them.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  I lied to Susanna. I haven’t lied to a woman in years—it’s something I don’t like to do. But when I was in high school, I could be kind of a jackass, and I went through a player stage, working my way through the girls at school like they were disposable. One after another after another. And when a guy goes through a player stage, especially a teen asshole with a chip on his shoulder like me, he tends to lie.

  A lot.

  Em, my first serious girlfriend, wouldn’t tolerate my lies. She warned me when we first got together. She taught me that liars are the absolute worst. Deep down, I always knew she was right, but I lied to her anyway, about something stupid and inconsequential, and she about lost her shit.