“Quarter a pair?” She raised her eyes hopefully at him.

“Ten cents.”

“Deal.” She cheerfully held up a fist and tapped it against his, then bounded out.

“Damn, you’re a cheap ass.” His sister plopped down on the love seat, their heads close together.

“Have you seen that stack of socks? I’ll go broke in the time it takes you to grill me.”

“Am I that obvious?”

He smiled. “You’re that dependable. This is the first time you’ve gotten me alone in a while.”

“So spill and I won’t pull out my instruments of torture.” She rolled over and propped her chin on the arm of the love seat. “Tell me about the mysterious girlfriend who you’ve kept secret for a year.”

“She hasn’t been a secret.”

“Then why haven’t we met her? You brought that teacher by on your second date, yet I haven’t even seen a picture of this one.”

A picture. He needed a thousand of those, yet had only a handful. He mentally moved that up higher on the to-do list. Capture her on film, since he couldn’t seem to do it any other way. “Here.” Reaching down, he dug in his pocket, pulled out his cell, and flipped it open. Scrolled through a hundred pointless pics till he got to the one he looked at ten times a week. The one that had been his wallpaper till she’d threatened to cut him open unless he changed it. It was a great one, her in his sweatshirt and nothing else, scrunching her face at the camera while she lifted a soda to her lips. Her hair was in a messy bun, pieces of dark falling around her face, her cheeks flushed. It had been taken on a Sunday morning. She’d taken off work and they’d piled into her bed. Streamed cartoons on her laptop and split leftover Chinese takeout. After the food she’d fallen asleep, her head on his stomach, her hand on his thigh. He’d been rock hard when she stilled, her hand stopping its lazy trail up and down his thigh, her teasing touch driving him crazy. He’d been so close to reaching down, was fighting the urge, trying to focus, prolonging the pleasure as long as he could, when her hand stopped, his breath catching as he shifted slightly. Waited. Ran his hand slowly down her back, his touch a question. Then he leaned forward to see her face. Wheezed out a frustrated breath when he saw her slack features, her closed eyes. Shut his own eyes and focused on the soft puff of her breath against his abs. Willed his cock to go down, for the ache to subside, for Family Guy to work its asexual magic and kill his dirty thoughts.

A hundred shards of memory were tied to that image. He handed the phone over. “This is her.”

His sister pushed up on her elbows and grabbed the phone. Her eyebrows raised when she saw the image. “She’s cute. Really cute.” She sat up fully and examined it closer. “Hmmph. She wasn’t too socially awkward to bounce around naked in your sweatshirt. What’s she do again?” The question was spit out casually, as if she hadn’t asked it ten different ways over the last year.

“Web design.” The first time he’d answered the question to anyone. The first time he’d lied about her. He hated it; the words crawled off his tongue and left a sour aftertaste, a strange sensation in his world that was normally so clean and simple. But what could he say? Tell the truth? His sister was already harboring reservations. To reveal that his girlfriend was a cybersex queen wouldn’t help a thing.

“Must pay well.” Tones of suspicion in the words, heard as easily as she had heard deception in his own.

“I don’t ask. Not my business.” Or yours.

“Well, what do you ask? Have you met her family?” The question was asked with such hostility that he was grateful for the correct answer to be both truthful and Lily-acceptable.

“No. They passed away when she was in high school.”

“Oh, please. All of them?”

“Yes.” His quiet tone wiped the snide look off of her face. “You can google it if you want. Her mother killed her entire family, then herself.”

Her neck bulged when she swallowed, like a pelican forcing down a fish. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I think that’s where her social anxiety comes from.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

She laughed abruptly, the sound high and sharp and inappropriate. “We’re not gonna kill her, J.”

Again, the truth fell out easier. “She’s not worried about that.”

“’Cause she’s never gonna see us?”

The ugly cut of sharpness was back in her voice, this time tinged with… hurt? Great. His sister, who spits nails out with her breakfast, had her feelings hurt. He reached over and plucked the phone back. Ignored her pout and worked it back into his pocket. “It’s that important to you? The meet and greet?”

“I am the most important person in your life.” She slid back onto her stomach.

“Ummm… no,” he deadpanned. “Brian, Kent, James, Yen. All ranking higher. Plus Olivia. You’re looking at spot six or seven, easy.”

“Watch it,” she warned. “I have no issue taking your beer buddies out of the picture. For the sake of competitive rank alone.”

“You know I’m kidding.” He stared up at the ceiling. “I’ll talk to her. See if I can convince her to a dinner.” He wouldn’t be able to. No way. He had absolutely no control over that woman.

“I’ll cook,” she offered. “Whatever you guys want. She’ll be well fed if nothing else. And the girl can stand to eat. She does eat, right? More than just those diet dinners you deliver?”

He grinned. “She eats. And she’s fine. Don’t say anything about her weight.”

“She’s got to toughen up sometime. I don’t want you dating a shrinking violet, J.”

A shrinking violet. Jeremy doubted that there was ever a moment that Deanna had been considered that. He tried to picture a meeting of the two women, one that didn’t end in combustion, but failed. “She’s not a shrinking violet. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh. My sweet brother.” Lily sighed. “You’ve always been clueless when it comes to your women.”

Had he? His sister’s track record in being right trumped his tenfold. But in this she was wrong. He knew one thing with Deanna, that she wasn’t meek or mild.

In everything else he was clueless.

CHAPTER 4

Past

“THANKS FOR THE place.” When Jeremy whispered against my neck, it made the tiny hairs on my skin tickle. I rolled away, his arm bringing me back, turning me to face him. I scooted down on the bed, so my head was at his chest and he moved to his back, our readjustment complete.

“You bought it. Nothing really to thank me for. Thanks for taking it off of my hands.” Yes, thank you for purchasing the home I bought for you from me. Thank you for letting me take that hundred-thousand-dollar loss. Thank you for not dying, and for being here beside me. Thank you for not asking questions and for loving me despite all of this.

He laughed softly and it was almost like a cough, the exhale of humor causing his heart to change tempo, to skip a beat under my ear. I moved my hand down his ribs, then back up, this time underneath his shirt. “You know… it has a bedroom. With a real bed. One off the floor.”

I smiled in the dark. “You too highfalutin to sleep on a mattress on the floor?”

“I’m just saying. Maybe you could visit. Spend a night. Help me break it in. Mark your territory so none of the bikini model neighbors get any ideas.”

I’d love to spend a night at his place. I had flipped through the pictures online a hundred times, could imagine the feel of the wood floors underneath my bare feet, the sink into the huge jetted tub, the glow of the Sub-Zero fridge when I opened the door late at night. But I couldn’t. I slowed the movement of dragging my fingers across his abs and contemplated rolling over. If I had turned away, he’d ask why. Push. And I didn’t feel like talking. I felt like staying in the peaceful moment, his heartbeat in my ear, his hand on my back rubbing a soothing pattern. I closed my eyes and wondered at the time. Wondered how much we had left. Soon, it would be nine and Simon would lock the door. But that was at least an hour away. A hour to pretend, for that short time, that we were normal. That I wasn’t pushing him out the door to prevent an incident where I might try to kill him.