Tonight, though, I’m weighed down by the fear that I am going to lose him.
I force the thought away, then school my features into a happy smile of greeting when I see them at a back booth.
Cass is dressed simply in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt with some graphic on it that I can’t see from this angle. Even casual, she looks awesome. The shirt covers her shoulder, but there’s no ignoring the vibrant colors of the tattooed tail feathers that trail down her arm. Her hair is raven black with streaks of blue, and she wears no jewelry that I can see—with the exception of the occasional glitter from the diamond stud in her nose.
My brother looks equally amazing. And if he wasn’t my brother, I’d go so far as to say he looks hot. He’s also in jeans and he’s wearing a light cotton button-down that he’s left untucked. He has a casual I-don’t-give-a-fuck air that goes with his slightly mussed hair. He almost looks like a beach bum, but his bearing suggests otherwise. Yeah, sister or no, I’ll say that he looks hot. And if the women in the bar shooting him interested glances are any indication, I’m not the only one who thinks so.
He and Cass sit opposite each other at a booth, and they’re deep in conversation as I arrive.
“Hey,” I call as I get closer. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
Cass looks at me, then frowns. “Are you okay? Other than the obvious, I mean. I’ve seen all the social media bullshit.” She must decide it’s too intense a question to start out with, though, because before I have time to even think how to answer that, she looks at my brother. “The bloom must be fading. I don’t think she got laid this morning.”
Ethan actually chokes on his drink, and I laugh. A genuine laugh, which reminds me why I love Cass.
“Actually,” I say, as I scoot into the booth beside Cass. “You’re right.” I grin wickedly. “But last night was exceptional.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” my brother says, his interruption so on cue that Cass and I look at each other and grin. “Do not even go there, or I will have to start running down the list of women I’ve met in Orange County. Laguna Beach is a happy hunting ground, I kid you not.”
I debate silence for a moment, but I just can’t deny the truth. “Sorry,” I say to Ethan. Then I turn to Cass and say, “Honestly, Jackson is just so—”
Across the table, Ethan groans as if in pain.
“Fine,” I say, then turn my attention back to Cass. “How’s your love life?”
“Oh, hell,” Ethan chimes in. “Why not skip the romance and jump straight to your sex life?”
We both turn to him, and he grins and raises his hands. “Hey, girl on girl and no sister in the picture? I’m perfectly fine with that.”
I smirk at Cass. “You’ll have to forgive my brother. He’s an ass.”
“But such a cute one, don’t you think?”
“He is pretty adorable,” I say, and though we’re bantering to get a rise out of him, the fact is it’s true.
I adore my brother, and I always have. He’s the only good thing, in fact, that came out of the horror of my childhood, because when it was all said and done, he walked away healthy.
He’s been living in London and only recently returned to the States. And between work and the soap opera that is now my life, I haven’t gotten to see him nearly enough. He’s got a few weeks off before he starts back up at his job, so he’s been using our parents’ house as a home base. That’s not a situation that’s conducive to visits as far as I’m concerned, because the only thing I want less than to shove bamboo under my fingernails is to visit my parents. So I was beyond thrilled when he called and suggested drinks with me and Cass. “No significant others,” he’d said. “Jackson’s awesome, but I want the dirt.”
Apparently he meant it, because now he’s all about the gossip. He kicks back, looks me square in the eye, and says, “I’ve read all the tabloid shit. What’s the real story?”
The waitress arrives with the fried avocado, tuna tartare, and specialty martinis they’d ordered before I arrived, so I wait until she’s gone to run down all the drama. At least, all the drama I’m willing to share.
“No way,” my brother says. He grabs a slice of fried avocado and points it at me. “He didn’t do it.”
“Kill Reed?” Cass asks, as though we could be talking about anything else.
“I spent time with him. Jackson’s not a killer.”
