Rochelle was saying something, her tone too discreet for Riley to hear her words.
Then Wren fired back, “I’m twenty-two! It’s the sweet spot between legal drinking age and actually having any responsibilities, the perfect time for me to have a little fun, make some risky decisions.”
Riley waved weakly. “Hey. I see we’re having a spirited—”
“I’m only twenty-five,” Rochelle pointed out, “and you don’t see me drunkenly making out with whoever looks good at the time.”
“That’s because you are a freaky robot-person who married the first real boyfriend you ever had and has not done a single spontaneous thing since you were fourteen. That isn’t normal!” Wren turned, seeking an ally. “Back me up on this, Ry.”
Covering her face with her hands, Riley made a mental note. Next time her sisters suggested they all get together, she would express her regret that she couldn’t make it because she was busy. “Nobody’s a freaky robot-person. Now, if you—”
Rochelle reached for Riley’s hand, as if the physical contact made them a united front. “Please tell our little sister she should treat her body with more respect.”
“I’m an adult, which means I don’t need you to approve my choices.”
“You don’t make choices. That implies some kind of deliberate selection of options, maybe even a little forethought. You just act on blind whim.” She tossed her hands in the air. “That’s what they should have named you. Whim Kendrick, who quits her job out of the blue and doesn’t think through the consequences of getting in bed with her roommate until the morning after.”
“The guy roommate or the girl?” Riley asked with mild curiosity.
Both her sisters gaped at her.
“Guy,” Wren clarified after a brief pause. “And I didn’t go to bed with him. Well, technically, I did, but we didn’t...you know.”
Rochelle rolled her eyes. “What a mature way to put it.”
“Hey, I was trying to spare your delicate ears.”
“Let me save you the trouble.” Rochelle spun on her heel and stalked inside the gallery.
Wren sighed. “How did two cool chicks like you and me end up with such an uptight sister?”
“Why do you always go out of your way to provoke her?” Riley countered. It was true that Rochelle could be meticulous and high-strung, but her unwanted lectures stemmed from genuine concern.
“It wasn’t intentional. She asked me about my night, so I told her. We had a party. There was drinking and canoodling.” She shrugged. “But based on Sam’s big puppy-dog eyes this morning, I think he might have read more into it than he should have. It’s a little creepy to have a guy mooning over you while you’re trying to eat your cereal. If he’s in love with me now, I’m gonna come bunk on your couch.”
Riley laughed grimly. “The hell you are. You were right when you told Rochelle that you don’t have to justify your choices to her. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to deal with the consequences like an adult. If you made things weird with Sam, fix them.”
Wren grunted. “You just don’t want me underfoot in case you finally decide to make a move on your sexy neighbor.”
Heat rushed to Riley’s face as she recalled the extremely enjoyable moves she and Jack had already made.
Wren’s mouth fell open. “Holy crap, you slept with him!”
“I... That’s not the kind of thing you need to be yelling at an art show,” she hissed.
Her sister grinned. “I have to tell Rochelle. She’s not going to believe this.” She disappeared inside, practically skipping.
Oh, great. Their planned afternoon of looking at sculptures, paintings and handmade jewelry had just morphed into an interrogation. Busy next time, she reminded herself. So very busy.
* * *
THE FUNNY THING about an interrogation from Wren was that she never gave a person a chance to actually answer the questions she fired at them. A minute of conversation with her went like this, “So who made the first move—you or him? Was he good? He must have been great. You’re practically glowing. You look like you just came back from a week at some kind of spa retreat. How many times have you— Oh, look at the earrings that woman is selling. I bet she can answer some of my questions about wire-work. Be right back!”
When she scampered away, Rochelle and Riley exchanged wry glances.
“I keep thinking,” Rochelle said, “that I’ll get used to her eventually. But it’s been more than two decades, and I still don’t understand her.”
“Maybe we don’t have to understand, we just have to love her. And see if her roommates can secretly switch her to decaf without her noticing.”
Rochelle’s peal of laughter echoed in the high-ceiling space, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
“All seriousness, though,” Riley said, “I wish you and Mom wouldn’t give her a hard time about changing jobs. Personally, I’m sort of relieved she isn’t driving home in the wee hours anymore after the bar closes at two in the morning. I’ve been to the lingerie store a couple of times now, and she seems in her element. She’s good with the customers, her boss speaks highly of her. Where’s the bad?”
“I guess you’re right,” Rochelle said, looking abashed. “I was more bothered by the jewelry idea. Not that she doesn’t make beautiful pieces,” she said, holding up her wrist and showing off a bracelet Riley assumed their sister had created. “But you know how her attention span is. Do you know how much money she spent on supplies back when she started oil painting? She’s doing the same thing now. What happens when she shoves hundreds of dollars of materials into her closet and moves on to the next thing?”
“I don’t know, but it’s her closet. Not mine. Everyone needs hobbies. Let’s just be glad she hasn’t taken up high-stakes poker.”
Rochelle made a noncommittal noise and strolled farther into the gallery, studying a gorgeous glass sculpture. Just when she’d lulled Riley into a false sense of security, making her think that they’d finished with any uncomfortable topics, she blurted, “So this neighbor of yours—is he a hobby?”
“What? That’s a horrible way to categorize someone.”
“How would you categorize him? Because I’m confused. You and I have always talked about relationships, and you’ve never mentioned him to me before today. Not once. But Wren, the person who’s always supported your wilder, irresponsible ideas, knew about him. You’ve been in her store buying sexy lingerie.”
“Body wash, candles and a robe,” she corrected. Her sister did not need to know how she’d used the belt from that robe.
“When Wren bolted in here to tell me you were getting busy with someone—she has such an eloquent turn of phrase—all you said was ‘It’s nothing serious.’ Said it more than once, actually.”
“I wanted to make sure I was getting through to you guys.” The last thing she wanted was either of her sisters telling their parents she had a boyfriend. “What Jack and I have... It’s not like when you and Perry started dating. There’s no future for us, and we’re both okay with that.”
“But you’re sleeping with him?”
Riley sighed. “I’m starting to see why you frustrate the hell out of Wren. How is my sex life your business?”
“It’s not,” she said quietly. “But Wren was right about one thing—you do have a glow. Even when we were arguing outside and you were annoyed with us, you looked more relaxed than I can remember seeing you in months. Maybe years. Does he make you happy?”
“Yes.” Riley could feel her smile—not just in the muscles on her face, but in the warmth that went through her, like a sunbeam.
“Say it’s none of my business if you want, but I know you, Ry. Whoever this guy is, you’re invested in him. And if he’s not serious about you, you’re going to get hurt,” Rochelle cautioned.
“I went into this wit
h open eyes.” She wasn’t some lovesick person who was naively ignoring her own limitations or Jack’s.
“You can fall down a flight of stairs with your eyes open, too. Still hurts.”
“Oh, look,” Riley chirped. “There’s a lovely painting on the far wall. I think I’ll go look at it now.” Making an effort not to stomp like a preschooler having a tantrum, Riley put significant distance between herself and her know-it-all younger sister.
Well-meaning though she might be, Rochelle didn’t have a lot of experience with male-female relationships. She’d only been with one man, and they were happily married. Riley wished them many decades of nuptial bliss, but not everyone was lucky enough to find their perfect match right out of the gate. There were many kinds of affairs and relationships, and not all of them were about True Love. She and Jack were enjoying each other, and she needed that in her life right now. What she didn’t need was a judgy sister chastising her over a fling that was about sex and not—
It’s more than sex.
Riley pinched the bridge of her nose. She was supposed to be staring at a bizarre abstract painting and wondering what the hell it represented, not arguing with herself and analyzing her relationship with Jack. Not that they even had a relationship. It was just a neighborly fling, dammit.
But if that were true, why had she been so moved when he told her that Halloween story about his mom? Jack freely volunteering a memory about a parent was about as rare as a unicorn sighting. Granted, it had just been a silly family anecdote—she had hundreds of them—but she’d treasured the fact that he’d finally felt comfortable sharing part of his childhood, no matter how small.
And the growing trust between them was a two-way street. As embarrassed as she’d been by her crying jag the first night he kissed her, she’d told him details she hadn’t admitted to any of the people closest to her. It had been cathartic.
Okay, yes, she cared about him. She never could have let herself be so intimate with someone she didn’t respect and like and feel some sort of connection with—but some bonds were only meant to be temporary. So what’s the plan? Sleep with him indefinitely until one of you decides to wander off in search of someone else? Agree on a mutual expiration date and write it on the calendar?
She balled her hands into fists, nostalgic for her days as a shut-in who dodged her opinionated sisters.
The truth was, she didn’t know how long this affair would last. And, if she was going to be completely blunt with herself, maybe Rochelle was right. Maybe she would get hurt, a little. But in this case she deemed the risk worth the reward. Hadn’t she decided to start making braver choices?
Jack had painted himself as a man not interested in romance or lasting commitment. They would end, eventually. But didn’t she deserve to have one hell of a good time until then?
* * *
MONDAYS HAD A reputation as being the most sucktastic day of the week; today certainly wasn’t doing anything to change Jack’s mind. This morning had been bad enough, when he’d been working with a witness he suspected was lying about the description of an assailant—maybe out of fear, maybe because he was embarrassed he hadn’t gotten a better look. If Jack’s sketch was inaccurate, then it was useless. But this morning’s frustration was nothing compared to how he was feeling now...
He clenched the mug of bitter station coffee he’d just poured. He didn’t even want it. He’d just needed something to keep his hands busy while a couple of uniformed officers passed through with the burly, ranting man they’d arrested. Even though the man had been cuffed, and was therefore unable to defend himself, Jack had wanted to take a swing at him. Possibly with a two-by-four.
Tony took a slug of his own coffee. “At least he should go away for a good long time.” He’d been confessing his crime to the entire room. Whether he followed through with a cognizant, written confession after he calmed down remained to be seen.
“He should have been put away already,” Jack said dully.
The man had been brought in a couple of weeks ago after a domestic disturbance call, but his wife had claimed the whole thing was a misunderstanding. Now he’d shot her, as well as the man he’d been afraid his wife might leave him for. When the officers had brought him through, the man had been crying, saying that he’d loved her too much to let her go.
Had his late wife protected him out of some misguided notion of love? Maybe Tony was right, and the murderer would be locked up. That wouldn’t bring back the two people who’d died.
Tony changed the subject. “You haven’t forgotten about this Saturday, right?” Like a lot of cops, Tony had learned to compartmentalize. If they dwelled on every crime that happened on their watch, they’d crack.
“Saturday?” Jack tried to push back his own rage and focus. “Your niece’s party? It’s this weekend? Already?” It seemed like only yesterday Tony had been helping him navigate his sofa up the stairs—and complaining about it with very colorful words—yet here it was November.
Tony jabbed his index finger at him. “You are not weaseling out of this. You’re about the most talented person we’ve got lined up. Parker in dispatch told me he could do magic, but turns out he knows exactly two card tricks and is mostly using the so-called magic act as an excuse to talk some girl into being his ‘beautiful assistant.’ My brother is bringing his karaoke machine, so there’s that. Dave’s trying to master the art of balloon animals—”
“Aren’t twelve-years-olds a bit beyond balloon animals?”
“Not sure it matters since he hasn’t successfully created a single one. Luckily, Juliet said she’d bring a couple of real animals, like a mini petting zoo for the younger cousins. And you’ll be drawing portraits. I know you’re used to basing your sketches off wit statements and not live models, but— What’s funny?”
“Nothing.” Jack ran a hand over his jaw, trying to hide his smile. Thinking about Riley naked probably wasn’t appropriate during a conversation about a birthday party. “Just recalling the last time I drew a picture of an actual model.”
“Well, it’s the first time you’ve smiled all day.” Tony clapped him on the arm. “I’m relieved to see it. If your scowl got any darker, you’d scare the kids.”
“Would that get me out of the party?”
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Can I bring someone with me?” he asked impulsively.
Tony did a double take. “I don’t get what you mean.”
“My neighbor. The one I was stuck in the elevator with?”
“You want to bring your neighbor to Tessie’s birthday party?”
“Forget I asked.” He didn’t even know what had possessed him, except that Tony was right. Jack had only smiled twice today, just now and earlier when his phone had buzzed and he thought it might be Riley. He’d been bitterly disappointed to see Unknown Name on his screen.
Riley made everything better, so it stood to reason that having her with him would make the interminable tween birthday bash more bearable. “But for the record, she has sisters, and I’m sure she’s participated in plenty of birthday parties. Plus, Juliet really likes her—”
“What about you, big guy?” Tony’s voice was sly. “Do you like her?”
“If I disliked her, I wouldn’t want to spend Saturday with her, would I?”
“Is she hot like Celeste?” Tony wanted to know. At Jack’s glare, he shrugged. “I’m married, but I ain’t dead.”
“She’s gorgeous. But nothing like Celeste.” Except that both women were neighbors he’d slept with. He winced. What happened to learning from your mistakes?
Riley wasn’t a mistake. She was... He didn’t know how to categorize her in a way that didn’t sound crude, but she was special. And she certainly didn’t have Celeste’s crazy vindictive streak. He wasn’t worried about Riley someday ambushing him in the mailroom or slashing his tires in th
e parking lot.
She was being an adult about their arrangement, and she wasn’t expecting love. Thank God. Jack had witnessed so many warped examples of it that he wanted nothing to do with it.
* * *
“HELLO?” RILEY GROWLED into the phone.
There was a startled pause before Wren asked hesitantly, “Rough day?”
“Rough client.” Every time Riley did a mock-up of a homepage to the woman’s specifications, her finicky client reacted with a variation of “Oh, now that I see it, I’m not sure that’s what I want.”
“What’s up?”
“I wondered if you were going by Mom and Dad’s this evening. She invited me for dinner, which is probably a trap to discuss my life choices—like I didn’t get enough of that from Rochelle yesterday—but I know you go over almost every day to visit Mags. I figured if you were there, it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Sorry, kiddo. I can’t tonight.” When she thought about the text she’d received from Jack earlier, a huge grin split her face. Apparently, they were both having terrible Mondays. He’d texted that he’d heard bubble baths reduced stress and he knew sex reduced stress, so he wanted to test his theory that bubble-bath sex was the most powerful cure for tension. She’d enthusiastically volunteered to participate in this experiment but warned that her only bath foam was raspberry-scented. If he wanted something more manly, he’d have to stop and grab something.
His last text had been that he was headed to look for motor-oil scented bubbles as soon as he left the station.
“Riley? Did you hear me?”
Riley blinked, having no idea what her sister had just said. “Hey, do me a favor. Do not tell Mom and Dad about Jack.”
“What would I tell them? I don’t know anything about the guy. Besides, I probably won’t go for dinner if there’s no chance of you dropping in. I need to recover from all of Rochelle’s unsolicited opinions before I can tolerate Mom’s.”
“To be fair, you give people unsolicited opinions all the time.”
“Sure, but my opinions are usually right.”
If She Dares (Contemporary Romance) Page 12
