“Not this time.” Not ever again. I escape down the short hall leading to my closet/dressing area on one side and the master bath on the other. I veer toward the closet. “Gunnar’s not so easy to make up with,” I call out. “If I’m late, he will punish me in ways I don’t want to contemplate. Not even for you.”
“Fine,” she huffs just before I pull the pocket door shut.
I hear the shower kick on as I change into workout clothes. The coast is clear. I fly downstairs in time to answer the knock on the front door. My own personal drill sergeant stands there, and the first thing he tells me to do is move my car so he can park in the driveway. I say I can’t and make it sound like there’s a mechanical problem.
He calls my ride a piece of shit as he turns and jogs down the drive. I know the routine. Five-mile warm-up. I fall into step beside him, but my attention strays to my neighbors’ house. I scan the windows as we run past, hoping for a glimpse of my guardian angel, but all is quiet.
A picture of Kendall drifts through my mind. Arms crossed, eyebrows low, she’s looking down her small nose at me and struggling to hold back a reluctant smile. It’s possible I wasn’t a total dick, but I definitely owe her an apology-slash-thanks. I think about ways to thank her while Gunnar puts me through the paces. When he finally cuts me loose, I limp upstairs to my bedroom, relieved to see Becca cleared out sometime during the last two hours.
A shave and shower make me feel halfway human again. I pull on jeans and a blue-striped button-down and check myself in the mirror. Casual but respectable.
I head downstairs to find Dylan in the entryway looking slightly more debauched than usual. He eyes me from above the rims of dark sunglasses, offers an irritated, “Nice parking job, fuck-up,” and brushes past me into the living room. He drops into one of the low-slung leather sofas and tosses his Ray Bans on the glass coffee table. His eyes are closed before his head hits the armrest. “Think you could move it?”
“I’m working on it,” I answer, and glance at my watch. It’s late, even for Dylan. “Did somebody get lucky last night?”
He doesn’t bother opening his eyes, but his jaded smile answers for him. “I don’t think luck had anything to do with it.”
“The redhead from the club?” Dylan recently sank a choke-a-horse chunk of his trust fund into a new club on Sunset. He won’t say it out loud, but he wants to prove something to his dad, who has always been too busy running his own empire to give much notice to anything else. I think it’s come as a surprise to a lot of people, including Dylan, how personally invested he is in the day-to-day business of operating the place.
His smile stretches and he opens his eyes to slits. “Lisa. Her cousin from Mississippi is in town trying to land a job, so it ended up being a party of three, I guess you could call it.” He glances around the room still strewn with empty bottles, glasses, spilled snacks, and various other party detritus, and his eyebrow goes up. He trails a finger through the filmy layer of white powder dusting the table and then rubs it on his gums. “You were a busy boy last night, too.”
Not quite that busy, but before I can answer, the front door opens, and Matt walks in looking legit badass in black utility boots, dark-blue tactical pants, and a white LAPD cadet T-shirt with his last name emblazoned across the chest in block letters. Or maybe four years in the USMC accounts for the badassery? Either way, I would not want to pick a fight with officer-in-training Matthew Wright.
Luckily, Matt’s the most even-tempered guy on the planet.
Unfortunately, I was not expecting to contend with him this morning.
When he hauls himself out to his mom’s house in Alta Dena on a Friday, he usually stays the entire weekend and heads straight to the academy Monday morning. Change of plans, obviously. He stops beside me and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. “What’s up with your car?”
“Sorry. I had a little problem last night. It will be fixed in the next hour.”
He levels an assessing look on me that causes a bead of sweat to run between my shoulder blades. Criminals of L.A. stand no chance. Finally, he says, “Do I want to know?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Okay, then.” He rolls his eyes until they settle on Dylan. “What else is going on?”
“Dylan’s recovering from a three-way with the hot bartender from The Cabana and her cousin from Mississippi.”
“Nice.”
“It did not suck,” Dylan agrees, “although Mississippi did, like a fucking pro.”
“Best of luck to you on the impending sexual harassment lawsuit,” Matt adds, mostly just to screw with Dylan. “Isn’t that the first rule they cover in Management 101? Don’t fish off the company pier.”
Dylan isn’t the least bit concerned. “Lisa gave notice last week—got a recurring role as Sexy Cocktail Waitress #2 in a new series. Last night was her going away party, and she was no longer in my employ by the time I gave her the farewell bonus. Nothing I did compromised my ethics. Now, I can’t speak firsthand for what went down here, but evidence suggests”—he drags a lazy fingertip across the table again—“Becca entertained.”
Matt winces and shoots another irritated look my way. “Is she still here?”
“No. She left for New York this morning,” I offer up quickly, feeling like an asshole for letting things get out of hand last night.
“Can I assume this place will be cleaned up by the end of the day?”
“Merry Maids are on the way,” I say, and make a mental note to call them ASAP.
“All right. Good.” He heads to the stairs. “I’m doing a ride-along this afternoon, so let’s just say I was never here.”
“You were never here,” Dylan calls out in agreement, settles deeper into the couch, and closes his eyes. “Now move your land yacht, V-dawg. My Audi’s on the street.”
Right. I backtrack to my office to call the house cleaners, unsure why I didn’t say anything to Dylan and Matt about our new neighbors. Because I’m embarrassed about the circumstances under which my introductions occurred? That’s probably it, since there’s no reason I should care if Dylan goes over there and tries to convince them a three-way with him would be the perfect sisterly bonding activity or Matt gives them his good-guy smile along with his number and tells them to call him next time our music gets too loud or his idiot housemate stumbles to the end of the drive and can’t find his way home.
Or whatever. I’m not the social chairman of the house. It’s not my responsibility to make sure they know what goes on next door. With the maid service arranged, I place a call to buy a gift for Kendall. The present ends up being a little over-the-top for a simple thank-you, even with an equally sincere “I’m sorry” added on, but her actions last night were more than simple girl-next-door decency. I’m hoping it shows her how grateful I am for everything.
Fingers crossed.
Chapter Three
Kendall
I tossed and turned all night, dreaming about the hot dogs from Mo’s pushcart on the corner of Fifth and East 62nd Street. The Hawaiian dog is my favorite. Honey mustard, Canadian bacon, pineapple, and jalapeno relish. I’ve been known to eat two, which really annoys my best friend, Brit, because she can’t figure out where I put all the food I consume. Hot dogs alone wouldn’t have kept me up, though. I dreamed about Vaughn eating one, too. In nothing but his Calvin Klein briefs. In my defense, it’s all he’s wearing in Times Square. I may have slipped off the crowded sidewalk, twisting my ankle, the first time I laid eyes on the ad. Brit did a full-on face-plant, her four inch heels no match for jumbo sexiness.
I stare at my bedroom ceiling a minute longer, then kick off the bedsheets and use the bathroom. The girl in the mirror staring back has tired eyes. Her hair is a wavy mess. I tie it into a ponytail, brush my teeth, and wash my face with cold water. “Let’s see if he’s still here,” I tell my slightly more presentable reflection.
Nervous tingles invade my body as I head downstairs. Half of me hopes Vaughn is already gone
—it is after ten—but the other half hopes he isn’t. Normally, I don’t think in halves, but Vaughn is…confusing. I don’t know how else to label the knot of anxiety and interest in my stomach. I’m worried that if he has this kind of effect on me when he’s drunk, what is seeing him up close when he’s sober going to do to me?
Doesn’t matter.
I pause midway to the family room to gather my wits and strengthen my walls. I’m an expert at letting people see only what I want them to see. Brit knows all my secrets, but that’s because Miss Psych Major is relentless. When talk of boyfriends came up our first week as roommates at NYU, I managed to give vague answers for only a few days. She wanted to connect with me, and despite being away from home and everyone who knew my story, I found myself letting her in.
So, she understood when I kept my nose in my books, because my grades mattered to me and they were something I could control. Focusing on school kept my mind off boys and kept my reputation sterling. I had fun and socialized, but mostly I stayed the course academically. I graduated with a 4.0 and scored a 170 on the LSAT. The plan is for me to go to law school and follow in my father’s footsteps. That I’m not in love with the plan is a complication I’m trying to figure out. As soon as possible.
Sounds in the kitchen get my feet moving again. Vaughn is awake and probably searching for his keys. I’ve had some time to think about what to say to him this morning, so I round the corner with purpose.
And trip over my own feet.
Vaughn isn’t in the kitchen. My half sister is. “Dixie?” Holy shit. Maybe I’m still dreaming. I blink her away, but she’s still there. The typical mashup of dread and possibility fills my empty stomach.
She lifts her head from buttering a piece of toast and looks at me like I’m something that crawled out of a drainpipe. “Hello, princess.”
Her hollow greeting guts me. We haven’t seen or talked to each other in a while and, foolish me, I always think time will bring a level of acceptance to our relationship. I swallow the disappointment, because a show of vulnerability only rewards Dixie’s habit of sharpening her claws on me. “What are you doing here?”
Dixie puts the knife down with a loud clank. “Three guesses, princess.”
“Please don’t call me that.” It’s an old nickname, and it brings back bad memories of summers spent hosting my half sisters. Forced interaction with two sullen girls with features similar to my own and absolutely nothing else in common. Dad cheated on Amber’s mom with Dixie’s mom, and then married neither. He was having a little problem with alcohol at the time. Three months into recovery he met my mom, and that relationship stuck. My half sisters collected child support and summers with Dad, and resented me because I had the “real” family complete with two parents, a dog, and a pink canopy bed.
Dixie just smirks. “If the glass slipper fits…”
It’s been only sixty seconds and I’ve had enough. I point to my bare feet. “I don’t see any glass slipper, do you? I do see my size sevens, and one of them is going to leave an imprint on your backside if you don’t tell me what you’re doing here.”
She shrugs and takes a bite of her toast, chewing slowly while I wait. Finally, she washes it down with a sip of coffee. “What do you think I’m doing here? Aunt Sally asked me to house-sit.”
“Impossible. She asked me to house-sit.”
A staring contest ensues. There’s no mistaking we’re related if you look at our eyes. We both have our father’s baby blues. A characteristic Dixie hates.
I know I’m not wrong about Aunt Sally inviting me here. She said she wanted me to have the summer to decompress and weigh my options before I start school in the fall.
My stomach cramps. My aunt is the only person I’ve told I don’t want to go to law school. She offered me time to be by myself and think about a back-up plan, and, since I hate the idea of going home, I jumped at her suggestion. I don’t know if I have the courage to change course and disappoint my dad, but I am sure doing something my heart isn’t in will only make me a bigger mess. I stand to lose more than three years of my life to a law degree. I stand to lose my happiness, something I’ve finally come to believe I deserve after fulfilling my punishment for my drunken teenage offense.
Dixie lifts her phone to her ear.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Calling Aunt Sally. She’ll tell you I’m staying here.”
Meaning staying together is out of the question. I plop down on a barstool at the breakfast bar. Dixie hates me. She hates that our father never thought of her mother as anything more than a few quick fucks—her words not mine—and then he married my mom, and they had me. They’ve been married for twenty-three years. They haven’t all been easy. My parents have had their ups and downs, but he loves my mom. Loves me.
“No answer,” Dixie says, putting the phone down.
Our aunt and uncle are on a cruise, so I’m not surprised. And now that I’m looking at my sister, I’m not all that shocked to see her. My aunt has always been the glue to keep my sisters and me in touch.
“It’s good to see you,” I say, hoping to cut through some of the strain between us. I understand Dixie’s animosity. She’s led a very different life than me. But I’m not to blame for my dad’s indiscretions.
“How long have you been here?” she asks.
“I got in last night.” Vaughn! “Umm…I’ll be right back.” I hurry into the family room, only to find he’s gone. Disappointment drags my shoulders down. Which is unsettling. Guys don’t disappoint me.
Dixie grins slyly when I walk back into the kitchen and shakes her head. “Only you would leave that on the couch and expect it to still be there in the morning.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He left.”
Heat converges on the back of my neck as I sit back down. “You saw Vaughn?”
“Saw, lusted over, flirted with.”
He flirted with her? Of course he did. Dixie, with her long legs, confidence, and devil-may-care attitude might as well have “Give me your best shot, Stud” tattooed on her forehead.
“What? You didn’t flirt with him?” She squints at me. “Of course you didn’t. So what gives?”
I bite the inside of my cheek before answering, “Nothing.” Heart in my throat, the last thing I’m going to do this morning is discuss anything personal with her.
“Okay,” she says easily. She wipes the corners of her mouth with her fingers, her toast finished. At the sound of Snowflake’s barks and the front door closing, we both turn in the direction of the foyer. Snow’s tough-girl woofs nearly drown out the soft voice trying to calm her. The pitch grows even louder as I picture Snow herding the new arrival toward the kitchen. Given the circumstance I’ve found myself in this morning, there’s only one person it could be.
“Ack!” my other half sister, Amber, shouts when she finds Dixie and me. She releases the handle on her suitcase, her hand flying to her chest. “You scared the crap out of me!”
“Hi,” I say.
“Fucking hell, Aunt Sally,” Dixie mutters under her breath.
Snow, seeing the three of us in strained but quiet compliance, turns on her paws and leaves us alone.
Amber is my dad’s oldest daughter by a few months. Growing up, she and Dixie sometimes ganged up on me, but it wasn’t because of any camaraderie. They did it because I had Dad all the time and they didn’t. Like it was my fault he fell in love with my mom and not theirs. I tried to play peacemaker up until they turned eighteen. After that they visited for only a week here or there and usually separately. Looking at them both now, I understand why they’d harbor ill feelings toward me, but how dumb of them not to love and support each other.
“Surprise,” I add. “Looks like you got a plane ticket and house key in the mail, too.”
Amber closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She focuses her blue gaze on me when she says, “You guys are here to house-sit for the summer?”
I nod. “Apparentl
y Aunt Sally wanted us all together again.” It’s been years since the three of us have been under this roof at the same time. We didn’t talk much to one another that summer. I remember lots of glares and sighs of dislike. Even so, I’d been grateful for the distraction. I didn’t want to be home in Wisconsin between my freshman and sophomore years at college.
Amber toes the side of her bag. “No offense, but this really isn’t what I signed up for.”
“You could turn right around and go home,” Dixie suggests.
“Or you could.” Amber snaps back.
“Can’t.”
“Me either.”
Why can’t they? I swallow my curiosity, knowing they won’t appreciate it. Dixie especially. Amber’s gotten a little more pleasant as we’ve grown older, so maybe I’ll question her when we’re alone. I study her now. If you ask me, even angry and disheveled, she’s the prettiest of us. She’s got our dad’s light hair, too, but her mom is a redhead, so it’s a beautiful shade of strawberry-blond, and her eyes are a deeper blue than Dixie’s and mine. But she’s thinner than the last time I saw her, and paler, too. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she says, sounding defensive. Or maybe I am, but I hear a silent Why wouldn’t I be? in her reply. Then she takes a seat next to me as if staking her own claim to the place.
Silent tension fills the room. It’s so thick it’s a miracle the three of us are still breathing.
The three of us.
My aunt obviously gathered us here for a reason. She’s always wanted us to be close, but we’re adults now, and that decision isn’t hers to make. I’ve wished it to be. God, after the accident, I wished for it so hard. But I finally accepted it’s one of those things that will always stay just out of reach.
Dixie starts opening cupboards. “The three of us under one roof for the summer. Holy shit, I need a drink. Where’s the liquor cabinet?”
Promise Me Page 3
