“Yeah, I… I also wanted to…” He shifts closer before adding in a softer voice, “Did Harlow say anything to you? About last night?”
“No, she didn’t. Why?” Propping my hands on my hips, I ask, “Did you do something awful? I know you two don’t get along, but she’s my best friend, Derrick. I need you to be nice to her.”
“She calls me Satan,” he says, but not in the frustrated tone he usually uses when discussing Harlow. “And all I did was save her from getting pounded by a pair of meathead assholes at a bar. I think you should be lecturing her on being nice and not going to bars alone.”
“She should be able to go wherever she wants alone. It’s the meatheads that were in the wrong, not Harlow,” I add before pushing on, “And if you’re so innocent, why are you asking me if she said anything to me about last night?” I don’t mention the fact that I saw him carry Harlow out of the bar or that she might be pissed that he scooped her up like a sack of potatoes first and, knowing Derrick, bothered asking her if that was okay much, much later.
He assaults his hair with his fingers again and gives a rather unconvincingly innocent shrug. “No reason, I just… I’d like to bury the hatchet with her. This feud or whatever it is has gone on long enough.”
“Agreed,” I say, softening toward him. Derrick’s such an overbearing, self-assured person that sometimes I forget he also has a soft side.
But he does. When I was little, I always had beautifully wrapped presents waiting for me beside a big stack of pancakes when I woke up on my birthday. And my dad sure as hell never did anything to help. Every stuffed animal and collection of art supplies was selected, paid for, and wrapped by my big brother.
Derrick was also the one who watched over me when I was sick and made sure I had Children’s Tylenol every six hours when I was fighting a fever. He’d get up in the middle of the night to check on me, even when he was exhausted from hockey practice and had school the next day.
Warmed by the old memories, I give his shoulder a squeeze. “I can talk to her for you if you want. Let her know you’d be interested in a fresh start?”
He shakes his head. “No, that’s okay. You have enough on your plate, and I don’t want to come between the two of you. I’ll figure something out on my own.” He glances around the room. “Sorry to interrupt you, by the way. I thought your class let out at five.”
“It does, I just stayed late to tie up a few loose ends.” I glance at the clock on the wall and curse beneath my breath. “Wow, it’s almost six. I completely lost track of time. I have to go.”
As I turn back to my drawing pad, flipping it closed and carefully slipping my supplies back into my art case, Derrick asks, “Why? Hot date?”
I laugh harder than I should. “Nope. Just a bunch of homework. And I need to get my lesson plan sorted out for the team tomorrow. I want to make sure I show up with something great to build on the progress we made yesterday.”
All of which is true, but I’m already done with my homework and have my lesson plan prepared aside from printing out the worksheets I intend to use for the first project of the day. I rolled out of bed early this morning to burn through my to-do list so I wouldn’t be distracted during my first practice session with Ian.
I have no idea if he plans to get straight to the de-virgin-izing or ease into this a little, but either way I figured I wouldn’t be in the mood to write a paper on the therapeutic benefits of play for adults afterwards.
Doing my best not to let my terri-citement—a mixture of terror and excitement I’ve been feeling so often today that I decided to give it a name— show, I turn back to Derrick with a grin. “But catch up later? Maybe we could have coffee later this week and brainstorm ways to get in Harlow’s good graces? I know she seems locked into her loathing of you but she’s not as rigid and inflexible as she seems. Honestly, a sincere apology for leaving her stranded at that bonfire when we were in high school would probably be all it would take.”
“Except that’s not what happened,” he mumbles so softly I can barely hear him.
But I do hear, and it throws everything I’ve ever heard about why Harlow thinks my brother is Satan into question. “What?” I ask. “What do you mean that’s not exactly what happened?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind. I’ll let you go and figure this out myself. Have a good night.” He turns to leave, but spins back a second later, his forehead furrowed. “Oh, and if you see Ian before I do, tell him I’d like to talk to him about last Friday.”
Panic dumping into my bloodstream, I squeak, “Why would I see Ian before you? You’re best friends. And Ian and I?” I let out an unconvincingly derisive snort. “We barely know each other. I mean, not compared to the two of you.”
“Yeah, I know,” Derrick says, suspicion tightening his expression. “But he’s in your class tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh, right,” I say, forcing another laugh as my inner voice warns that I need to get away from my brother before my poor lying skills ruin my chances of ditching my hymen this century. “Right. Totally. I’ll tell him, but why can’t you tell him yourself?”
“He’s not answering my texts,” he says with a sigh. “I thought about stopping by his place later, but—”
“No!” I shout, my tongue practically leaping out of my throat as I hurry to cover my mistake. “You should give him space. I mean, you know how much you hate it when people stop by without calling first. That’s practically grounds for assault charges, right? I thought you were going to kick me down the stairs the last time I popped by to borrow your crockpot.”
He winces. “You don’t really mean that, right? You know I would never hurt you. Like…never. No matter what you did or how upset I was about it. You’re my baby sister, my family. I just want to protect you, Evie.”
“I know,” I say, aching at the genuine pain in his words. “Of course, I know.” I frown. “What’s going on with you? Did something happen at work or—” I break off with a sigh as I connect the dots. “It was Harlow, wasn’t it? She said something to you last night about me.”
He takes another step back. “No, she didn’t. Well, she did, but I promised I wouldn’t say anything.” His breath rushes out. “I shouldn’t even be here. Just remember that I love you, okay? Even when I’m being grouchy? And I’ll try to do a better job of conveying my concern for you with a little less…intensity.”
“Okay,” I murmur. “That sounds good. And remember I love you, too. So much.” I want to say more, but Derrick is already lifting a hand goodbye, and if I don’t hurry, I won’t have time to change.
I don’t care what Ian said about liking my overalls. I want to feel confident and sexy tonight.
Tonight, I’m not animals-in-teacups and baggy-overalls Evie. Tonight, I’m the woman who drew that sexy-as-hell picture and who was bold enough to set this plan in motion in the first place.
Tonight, I am Brave New Evie and by tomorrow…
By tomorrow I might not be a virgin anymore, a prospect so momentous I tell myself it’s okay to get to the bottom of the Harlow and Derrick mystery later.