Hearts—and the breaking of them—had not a goddamn thing to do with it.
5
Fiona
There was a distinctly Roxy-like knocking at my door.
When I realized the time—and the day of the week—I groaned.
It was a Hand Grenades night.
Smothering a yawn, I walked through my apartment and stared through my peephole. Roxy stood there with her middle finger raised, dressed in club attire.
“Have you been standing with your finger up this whole time?” I said through the door.
“Open up, bitch.”
“It’s not polite to surprise people at nine pm on a Tuesday. Some people have work in the morning.”
She smirked, removed her spare key. I rolled my eyes but found myself smiling. Opening the door, I ushered my big sister inside. She looked gorgeous as usual, all black eye makeup, combat boots, and a leather jacket with spikes down the back.
“What are you up to?” she asked.
I collapsed back onto my couch and tossed a pillow at her face. “Tackling the apocalypse that is my inbox right now.”
“Come dancing with me,” she said. She turned around and dug inside her purse. “I even brought you your favorite shirt to borrow. Mom and Dad will love it, and you don’t even have to stay for the whole time.”
She held up her old Blondie shirt from high school. I gasped, snatched it from her and crushed it to my chest. “You mean the shirt that you stole from me?”
“Me? Never.” Her smile was feline. But then she sank down next to me and placed her hands on my knees. “And a week ago you promised me we’d do this. A night out, just the two of us. No Edward. No dates. Just the Quinn sisters, unleashed on the city.”
The idea was suddenly too tempting to ignore. I’d remained Roxy’s partner in crime through college and law school because this city was way too fun. And when we weren’t spending our nights at The Red Room, we sought out any opportunity we could find to see live music and dance and drink too much wine and stay out way too late.
Back in the day, if we didn’t end our night at The Westway Diner, eating omelets before dawn, then the night itself must have been a bust.
But the second I joined Cooper Peterson Stackhouse and took on the actual, 60-hour-a-week workload of an associate estate lawyer, our time together grew more sporadic and involved a lot fewer diner breakfasts at dawn. Until last year, I prioritized these Tuesday nights because it was a guarantee we’d see each other—even though it made my early Wednesday mornings a veritable hell.
It was worth it, though. To see my sister.
I turned and gave her such a big, fierce hug she burst out laughing. “Are you okay?”
“Can’t I hug you?”
“Now I feel bad that I called you a bitch.”
I let her go but patted the top of her head. Then I stood up and walked into my bedroom to change, Roxy hot on my heels. She crashed out on my bed, careful to keep her boots from my perfectly pressed pink bedspread. I slipped on my old shirt and enjoyed its worn softness. I dug through my jewelry and hunted for the perfect shade of lipstick. “Knowing that I chose dating a pile of useless men like Brendan over seeing my best friend is making me feel retroactively shitty, though.”
She crossed her legs. “That first year Edward and I were together, when we basically didn’t leave his bed—”
“Brag.”
“—you and I didn’t see each other as much for us time. It was different.”
I met her gaze in the mirror. “It is a little different now, Roc.”
She bit her lip. Nodded. “I hate that.”
“It’s not all bad though,” I said. “It’s only changes. Maybe once I meet my soul mate, we can spend more time together by doing couple’s dates. Like bowling or having game nights.”
She made a puking face, and I laughed. “Oh, shut up. You don’t want me to win like I used to every single time when we were kids.”
She didn’t argue, merely sat up on my bed with her palms behind her, kicking her legs in time to the quiet music I had playing on my record player. If I blinked, we could have been teenagers again, getting ready to meet boys whose hearts we’d only break. Because Roxy had too many boyfriends.
And me? I didn’t have time for love. I only had time for my ambition, even then.
I still snuck out to go to parties though.
“Have you heard from Brendan?” She asked.
“Oh no,” I said quickly. “It’s totally fine.”
She tilted her head. “You dated for two months. That is long enough to feel a little bit awful. Right?”
I yanked on tight black dress pants and went searching for the perfect blazer in my closet. The truth was I didn’t feel awful. Not about Brendan, exactly. I was more frustrated with what I believed to be a loss of time. It had been a week since I’d signed my contract. I wasn’t ready to hop back on dating sites quite so soon, but I was close. Comparing, planning, mapping out the best dating websites with the highest match rates. I had been answering work emails when Roxy barged in in her usual manner. But I’d also been compiling my research in a spreadsheet. I’d take that to my fucking grave though. I’d never hear the end of it if my sister found out.
Stepping back out, I twirled around. “What do you think?”
“Gorgeous,” she said. “Heels, right?”
“I wouldn’t leave home without them,” I sang, searching for something red and spiky in my closet. “And, to answer your question, I’m okay. None of these relationships broke my heart, I promise.”
Roxy didn’t have to say it—but she knew, because I’d told her, that I didn’t believe I’d ever had a broken heart.
I strutted back out to her happy applause. “You look like a punk-rock CEO. I completely approve.”
“Always been my vibe,” I said, preening a little. I ran my hands through my shoulder-length hair, adding a touch of hairspray.
My sister stood up and crossed her arms with a silly smile. “Tell me the truth.”
“Yes, he was boring in bed too,” I said.
“I fucking knew it.” She shook her head. “That didn’t bother you?”
I blew out a breath as I brushed the hair from my face. “I wasn’t pleased with it. I mean, literally.”
She snorted.
“But with all things, I thought being committed to the end goal was the point, not all the minutia of dating and sex.”
“When was the last time you had hot, dirty, good sex?” she asked.
“Not last year,” I said grimly. “I chose the wrong men is all. It’ll be different now that I know more of what I want.”
“But you won’t be fucking them?”
I checked my appearance one last time, pursing my lips and checking my teeth
“Wait you’re missing one requirement.” My sister appeared next to me with a chunky eyeliner pencil I knew she carried in her purse for these exact moments. “Close ’em.”
I obeyed. Black eyeliner had always been her thing, but it was impossible to deny her impeccable skill. These were hands that held tattoo guns without shaking, so she could draw along a lash line like no other.