by Lauren Layne
Mollie’s best friend stuck her head out of Mollie’s walk-in closet and held up a long billowy dress, lifting her eyebrows in question.
Mollie glanced at it and gave a thumbs-up, and Kim rolled her eyes. “That was a test and you failed,” Kim hissed. “This could fit three of you.” She dropped the dress into the giveaway box.
“Is someone there?” Madison asked.
“Kim’s helping me pack,” Mollie said as she put a sexy black bra into the moving box and at the same time tossed an ancient, torn beige one into the trash pile. Then, on second thought, she fetched the beige one out of the trash bag and added it in with the keepers. Comfort counted for something.
“Oh, tell her I said hi!” Madison said.
Mollie pulled the phone away from her face and turned toward the closet. “Madison says hi.”
“Oh my gosh, tell her I say hi back!” Kim said in a gushing, fake voice as she came out of the closet and put a couple of blouses into a box. Kim fluttered her eyelashes behind her thick black-rimmed glasses and pretended to flip her chin-length black hair over her shoulder.
Mollie mouthed “ha ha” before turning her attention back to her sister. “Kim says hi back.”
Kim and Madison had only met a couple of times, but they weren’t exactly friends. Madison, at least, pretended to like Kim with all her brainy, no-bullshit candor. Kim, on the other hand, had trouble being more than passably polite in the face of Madison’s sugar-sweet Texas charm.
But Mollie had bigger problems to worry about than the fact that her best friend and sister weren’t pals. Like the fact she was about to be living in Jackson Burke’s guest room, and big sister was none too happy about it.
“You know that Jackson’s just doing it to mess with me,” Madison complained.
Mollie’s eyes narrowed at the smug confidence in her sister’s tone. As though the only reason anyone would do anything would be if it somehow related to Madison.
“Or it could be because Jackson and I are friends,” Mollie said, the sharpness in her own voice surprising her. She rarely swiped back at Madison’s bitchy jabs. She’d learned early on that her sister was rarely worth engaging.
“Has he mentioned me?” Madison asked, as though the idea of Jackson and Mollie’s friendship wasn’t even worth acknowledging.
Mollie picked at a cuticle. “Nope.”
“Huh.” Madison’s tone was irritated.
“Look, Maddie—”
“I hate that name.”
Mollie ignored this. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first. Truly. But I really didn’t think you’d have a problem with it. You’ve told me a million times that you didn’t care if I stayed friends with Jackson after the divorce.”
“Sure, I meant you two exchanging your little inside jokes by text, or whatever. I didn’t mean becoming his roommate.”
Mollie frowned at the edge in her sister’s voice. Even before Maddie had filed for divorce, she’d seemed long uninterested in anything having to do with Jackson, as though the very mention of his name irritated her.
“Is everything okay?” she asked her sister. “I mean with Alec?”
“Alec’s amazing.” The words were out almost before Mollie had finished asking the question. “We’re probably going to get married.”
Alec McDaniels was a thirtysomething model with a history of attaching himself to the rich and famous. Mollie was 100 percent sure that if Madison had never become a household name, courtesy of Housewives, Alec never would have conveniently bumped into Maddie at a bar.
Still, her sister liked the guy, and Mollie supposed that was what mattered.
“I’m glad things are going well,” Mollie said. “I want you to be happy.”
Madison said nothing to this, but then Mollie hadn’t really expected her to. Her sister seemed to think that the entire world existed to ensure her happiness.
It hadn’t always been this way. True, Madison had always been self-absorbed, but she’d also stepped up to the plate when someone needed her. When Mollie needed her.
Something had changed once Maddie had become Mrs. Jackson Burke. It was as though the money and fame had somehow brought all of her sister’s worst qualities to the top and leached out all of the good. Mollie still loved her sister. But liking Madison . . . that was harder.
“I bet he’s thinking he can get to me through you,” Madison said in a musing voice.
Mollie picked at her chipping nail polish to keep from losing her temper. “Mad, I wasn’t kidding when I said he didn’t mention you. I really think he’s moved on, just like you have.”
“He’s seeing someone?” Madison asked, her tone turning even sharper.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
If the thought of Jackson dating someone caused a funny little pang in her stomach, Mollie ignored it. It was just that for a moment there, when the two of them had stood face-to-face in his apartment, she could have sworn there was a little sizzle of something between them. Nothing inappropriate. Not even interest. Just . . . awareness.
She’d always been aware of Jackson Burke. She’d accepted that as one of the facts of her life. But this was the first time she’d sensed that maybe he’d been aware of her.
Thank you, little red dress.
Mollie mentally slapped herself. No. That was not what this was about. This was about getting out of her crap hole of an apartment, saying yes to an offer from a friend.
Mollie glanced around at the grungy apartment. It was disgusting. Even before Cabbage Boy had moved in with his spider, it had been a bit of a crap hole. She’d picked the place mainly based on its bigger-than-average closet space, only to realize too late that the closet was almost as big as the bedroom and kitchen combined. She wanted out.
“Mad, I’ve got to get going. I can’t let Kim do all of my packing.”
“Oh, I’m not packing so much as purging,” Kim interjected, chucking one of Mollie’s favorite shirts into the giveaway pile.
“So you’re really doing this?” Madison asked.
“Yeah,” Mollie said quietly. “I am. I’m sorry if it’s weird for you, but like I said, it’s temporary and there’s nothing—”
“Okay, here’s what I’m thinking,” Madison interrupted. “We use this to our advantage.”
We use this to our advantage. Once, Mollie had taken comfort in Madison’s habit of talking about the two of them as a unit. When their mom had been wasted out of her mind on the couch, Madison had assured Mollie that we were going to be just fine. When they’d had to go to their dad’s new family’s house for Christmas, Madison had promised that we’d stick together.
But lately . . . lately the we had felt a lot more like Madison’s agenda and the expectation that Mollie follow along blindly.
“Do I even want to know what you mean by that?” Mollie asked warily.
Kim quietly hummed the Jaws theme in the background.
“I mean that he’s using you to keep tabs on me; I can use you to keep tabs on him.”
“Why do you care?” Mollie burst out. “You divorced him, remember? You left him for another man. Another man you’re going to marry.”
“Don’t be naive, Mollie. Jackson may not be a quarterback anymore, but he still has the power to torpedo my career if he wants to.”
What career? Mollie wanted to scream. It was getting harder and harder to remember that this was the woman who’d once stayed up all night altering her old prom dress so that Mollie would have something to wear when they couldn’t afford a new gown. This was the sister who’d talked her through her first period, who’d held her hand during Mom’s funeral, who’d always been game to watch Golden Girls reruns when Mollie wasn’t feeling well.
“Actually, I can’t believe I didn’t think about this earlier,” Madison was saying. “This is perfect.”
Mollie held up her hand even though her sister couldn’t see. “Hang on. Five seconds ago you were pissed. And before you even go there, I’m not moving in to spy on him
, Mad.”
“Of course not! But you can, you know, influence him. You’ve always been able to talk to him when he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.”
Mollie’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you want me to talk to him about?”
Kim hummed the Jaws sound louder.
“I just mean it would be good to know what’s going on with him. To make sure he doesn’t ruin things with me and Alec.”
Mollie rubbed her forehead. “Okay. Fine. So if I make sure Jackson doesn’t sabotage your happy ending with Alec, you’re cool with me moving in?”
“Well, I don’t know about cool,” Madison muttered. “But it would be nice to know what the guy’s up to, since he doesn’t return my calls.”
That got Mollie’s attention. “You’ve been calling him?”
Madison made a little sound, and Mollie got the impression her sister wasn’t thrilled to have let that slip. Maddie liked to be pursued. Not the other way around.
“I just wanted to check in. Make sure he was okay.”
“And he didn’t pick up?” Mollie winced at the eagerness in her own voice. It shouldn’t matter whether or not Jackson had talked to Madison. It didn’t matter . . . much.
Kim was making siren noises now as she folded one of Mollie’s jackets and set it in a box.
“Ugh. I don’t want to talk about this right now, Molls,” Madison snapped. “I’ve gotta run. Cindy’s ready to rinse the color out of my hair.”
“Okay,” Mollie said resignedly. “Call me later. I love you.”
The phone went dead before she finished speaking.
Mollie pulled it away and stared at it. “Good talk.”
“Babe, what the heck were you expecting? The woman’s a monster.”
“She’s not,” Mollie said automatically.
Kim gave her a look. “She slept with your boyfriend.”
Mollie swallowed. “I don’t know that for sure.”
“Right. I forgot we’re still subscribing to the theory that maybe she invited Shawn to her hotel room to talk.”
Mollie frowned a little as she realized that she didn’t feel so much as a pang at the memory of seeing her grad school boyfriend emerge from Madison’s hotel room. Not so long ago, reliving that moment had been enough to sucker-punch the breath out of her. Now she felt merely . . . tired.
That was it. Talking to her sister—hell, even thinking about her—made Mollie tired. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “Can we not talk about her? Please?”
Kim came over to the bed, shoving a box to the side so she could sit beside Mollie, looping an arm around her neck. “Sure, babe.” They were silent for a minute before Kim gave a big sigh and said, “You’re not really leaving me, right? For the uppers?”
Mollie smiled. Kim had a great little studio just a few blocks away from Mollie’s place on the Lower East Side. The “uppers” referred to the Upper West Side and Upper East Side of Manhattan, which were more expensive than their current neighborhood. She and Kim had a long-standing joke about what life would be like when they could afford the “uppers.”
Mollie sure as hell hadn’t figured this was how she’d get there, and yet . . . She had no regrets. A chance to get away from Austin and his spider, a chance to be closer to her work, a heater that actually worked . . .
“Do you think Madison wants Jackson back?” Mollie blurted out.
“Thought we weren’t talking about her.”
“Kimmy.”
Her friend sighed. “Fine. I don’t know, babe. But if I know anything about your sister, I’m guessing that if she didn’t want him back before, she definitely does after that phone call. Did you really think there was any way she was going to let her hot little sister move in with her ex without some sort of ulterior motive?”
“She’s not like that,” Mollie said automatically, leaning against her friend so that her hair tangled with Kim’s black locks.
Kim kissed the side of her head. “She’s exactly like that.”
Mollie swallowed, knowing she should defend her sister. Once upon a time, she’d exhausted herself trying to make sure people understood Madison. But recently Mollie wasn’t even sure she understood her sister.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” Mollie asked her best friend. “Moving in with Jackson?”
Kim was uncharacteristically silent for a long moment. “I think you’re taking a risk.”
“Because he’s my former brother-in-law?”
Kim patted her knee. “That. And the fact that you used to be in love with him.”
There was that. There was definitely that.
Chapter 7
“You seriously didn’t have to hire movers,” Mollie said for the hundredth time as she watched two burly dudes easily maneuver yet another stack of boxes to Jackson’s guest room.
Jackson pointed at a barstool. “Sit. Relax. Want a beer?”
“No, I still need to unpack,” she muttered, reluctantly plopping onto the stool.
“Have a beer, Molls. Unpacking your nightstand contents isn’t like operating heavy machinery,” he said, going to the fridge and pulling out two beers.
“Clearly you don’t know what’s in my nightstand.”
Jackson lifted his eyebrows. “Exactly how big is your vibrator?”
“I meant I have like a zillion books.”
“Which are not breakable,” he said, handing her a beer. “And is that a no on the vibrator?”
She gave him a look as she took the bottle from his hand. “I just want to state for the record that I have moved several times, on my own, without the help of movers, and I could have done it again.”
“Moving yourself is for college kids. You’re an adult. Hire movers.”
“No, moving yourself is for people without extra income,” she said. “Snob.”
“So what was the plan?” he asked, tipping the bottle to his lips. “You were just going to maneuver all those big-ass boxes around with those skinny sticks you call arms?”
“Don’t be silly. I was going to hire some big beefy dudes from campus to help me. Perk of working at a university.”
Jackson was about to set his bottle on the counter but his hand froze, just for a second, and Mollie felt a sting of regret as she realized she’d inadvertently hit a nerve. Not so long ago, Jackson Burke had been absolutely the type of muscled guy friend who’d’ve been really helpful to have around on moving day. Her eyes flitted to his shoulder. Now he was the guy who wouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting for a long time. Maybe ever.
She looked away, her brain scrambling to come up with a quick subject change.
Only maybe that wasn’t what he needed—for people to dance around his injury like it was the elephant in the room. Physically, he was on the road to recovery. He needed to get there mentally as well.
“You said the other night that it didn’t hurt,” she said. “Was that a big macho man moment?”
He stared at the counter. “I’ve told you. It’s fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. Be a little more vague and manly.”
“Well, what do you want me to say, Molls?” he ground out. “That the pain wakes me up at night? That any motion more vigorous than brushing my teeth hurts like hell?”
“Are you going to physical therapy?” she asked, purposely ignoring the wounded-bear routine. That might scare off other people, but she was made of stronger stuff. Knew him better.
He looked away.
“Oh, Jackson.”
He shrugged. “What does it even matter? All the PT in the world isn’t going to help me play football again.”
“Well, gosh,” she said dramatically, “you may as well be dead.”
Jackson was in the process of taking a sip of beer and choked. “Jesus. You are such a smart-ass.”
“I’m just saying, you have a lot going for you,” she said, gentling her tone. “You don’t need a football in your hand or to help a girl move to be an amazing guy.”
“Yeah?” he said as he leaned on his forearms across the counter. “Want to tell me more about how I’m an amazing guy?”
If I did, I might never stop. Mollie cleared her throat. “Well, I would, but I’ve got to save up all my best compliments for my first-date script.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re dating?”
“Try to be a little more insulting,” she muttered.
“I just meant that I didn’t think there was anyone serious since that Shawn guy in grad school.”
Mollie was careful to hide her flinch. She told Jackson most things, but she’d never told him about that night. One did not ruin a marriage without proof, and Madison had sworn up and down that she’d only invited Shawn over to give him a don’t-mess-with-my-baby-sis talk.
Mollie had never gotten Shawn’s side of the story. He’d dumped her three days later due to “lack of chemistry.” Sadly, Mollie hadn’t even been able to disagree. The guy had never exactly set her loins on fire.
“There hasn’t been anyone serious,” Mollie told Jackson, taking a sip of beer. “That’s kind of the problem. I’m twenty-eight. I want to be dating for at least two years before I get married, then engaged for a year to plan my epic wedding. Then I want to be married for at least a year before the first kid—”
He held up a hand. “Stop. Too much math.”
She propped her chin on her hand and looked at him. “Does that mean you’re not going to fix me up with some hottie at Oxford?”
“Hell no.”
“Come on,” she coaxed. “I bet that place is dripping with hot guys.”
He winced. “Not answering that.”
“What if I gave you, like, a list of requirements, and you tell me if you’ve got a match?”
“Nope.” He took another sip of beer.
She plodded on anyway, just because it was kind of fun to see him a little bit discomfited. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Tall. Chiseled jaw. Muscular.”
“Chiseled jaw? What the fuck is that?”
She used her bottle to gesture at his jawline. “Look in the mirror.”
