Her nose scrunches up. “That’s gross, Rix.”
“But the point is . . . you don’t know. And that’s awesome and amazing, and freeing, and . . .”
“Terrifying? I think that’s the word you’re looking for because I feel like you’ve got it all together while I’m floundering with zero clue what the hell I’m doing. And now you’re just going to shit on it? On Dad? On Reed? By running away to join the Army?” She’s mad, which I get, but I’d hoped she’d support me.
I try to find a way to explain that I had this moment where I’d looked around and could feel the rest of my life closing in on me. Dad’s been talking about me going full-time at the shop, which I want, and making jokes about father-daughter dances at the wedding, which I don’t. I think Reed is only waiting for graduation to be done with before he proposes. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past him to propose at graduation.
And I don’t want that life.
I want to be young and reckless. I want to drive fast cars and do dangerous shit. I want to decide for myself who I’m going to marry and when.
Everyone else is in a rush to get me settled down, especially Dad. I know why, and my enlisting is going to push every one of his panic buttons. That’s why I need Emily on my side, a united front.
I need him to see that I’m strong, independent, and fierce enough to do whatever it takes to get my way. Even if it means . . . leaving.
“It’s not forever. Just for a few years . . .”
It damn near killed everyone but me when I left the first time, and every visit home after that ended with them begging me to stay even though they knew I couldn’t. The only person happier than Mom and Dad when I got out was Emily.
And now I’m shitting on our sisterhood again.
“No, not that either.” I shake my head, stalling as long as I can. But her eyes narrow as she runs out of guesses. “It’s about Brody.”
“Oh . . . Cowboy Brody . . .” She sighs out breathily as her hand lays over her heart.
Shit. Fuck. Damn.
I’m the worst sister ever. But I’m ready to take my lumps so I jump in.
“Last night, when we were leaving Two Roses, his truck wouldn’t start. I had to jump it off there, and then he followed me back to the garage so I could drop a new battery in. I guess sitting in the lot for a few days was too much for the old battery.” I’m adding unnecessary details, but ripping the Band-Aid off slowly seems kinder somehow. Not to Emily, but to myself.
“Anyway, after I did the battery, we got to talking and one thing led to another . . .” I trail off, and Emily’s eyes go so wide I can see the whites all the way around.
“Oh, my God! You slut! You slept with him!”
The words and sentiment are exactly what I expected, and shame fizzles in my bloodstream. What I didn’t expect was the look on Emily’s face. She looks . . . excited? But that can’t be right.
“No, no. I didn’t sleep with him, but he kissed me. Well, we kissed. I think it was a kiss. It seemed more like mouth fucking. Is that a thing? Because if it is, that’s what we did. He fucked my mouth.”
I’m rambling with nerves. Know what I never do? Ramble.
That kiss-slash-mouth fuck must’ve scrambled my brains. It’s the only logical explanation.
I bury my face in my hands, another thing I don’t do. I’m not a hider. I’m a face hard shit head-on girl. Even when I left, it was because I was facing down a future I didn’t want and choosing something else. I hadn’t hidden then, and I’m not hiding now. I mumble into my hands despite my arguments to the contrary about my nature. “I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. Truly, I’m sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?” I peek through my fingers to see confusion knitting her brows together, and I’m betting she looks a whole lot like me right now, confused as hell.
I lift my head, steeling my back as I lower my shoulders, ready to be brave. Or at least fake it. “Because you like him, and I swear I’m not a shitty sister who goes around poaching, especially not from you.” I inject every bit of earnest truth I can into the proclamation, only to have her laugh in my face.
“Rix. Honey. I don’t care,” she says sweetly, her laugh almost tinkling.
Of course, she’s being sweet. That’s who Emily is.
“Of course you care. I’m sorry. I won’t see him again.” Why does that sting a little? I barely know Brody, just met him, honestly, but there’s a little puff of smoky sadness like a matchstick getting blown out inside me at the thought of never mouth-fucking him again.
Emily shrugs casually, as if my betrayal of the oath of sisterhood is no big deal. But I know good and well that it is. “Rix, I don’t care. He didn’t seem that into me at Two Roses anyway, and now I know why. That man likes ’em dirty, just like you.” She makes ‘dirty’ sound like a compliment, right before she slaps her forehead. “Which reminds me that he was trying to figure out how I got my hands clean . . . because he thought I was you!”
She seems delighted at that and laughs like a twin switcheroo is the funniest thing ever. I think Brody would beg to differ. I would too.
“We’re good. Go get you some of that cowboy.” She shoves at my shoulder with a smile. “Just make sure you tell me all the dirty details, each and every inch of them.” Her wink is silly and reminds me of those easier days when we were thick as thieves.
“You mean it? I swear, say the word and I’ll never talk to him.” I sound like I’ve already made up my mind, but Emily knows me well enough to see right through my front.
Emily freezes, her mouth hanging open before she sets her glass down on the coffee table so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter. The glass, not the table, because it’s wood. And these glasses must be industrial strength. I’m rambling again, but only in my head now.
“I should beat the ever-loving shit out of you.” This is what I expected, but I don’t let my hands ball up. Not against her. I’ll take the blows, knowing that I deserve them. She throws a sissy shot at my shoulder, more of a tap than a punch, but it’s probably all she’s got. “You like him! But you set me up with him. What the hell?”
“You said he was The One, and I wasn’t going to get in the way of that.” I’m still apologizing.
She rolls her eyes. “I say that every week, sometimes twice on Sunday if Mr. Saturday Night had particularly good oral skills.” She’s kidding, I think. She might fall in love all the time, but she’s pickier than I am about who she fucks, usually only opening her legs after dating someone for a long while. “But you? You never chase down dick, and the one time you feel like it, you pawn him off on me because I’m mouthing around again?”
Both her hands go to my shoulders, and she shakes me so hard that my teeth clatter together. “Stop it. For the love of fuck, nobody needs you to martyr yourself to make up for years-old shit. If you want your Cowboy, climb on and yee the hell outta his haw. I’ll find my own cowboy. Or lawyer. Or poet.”
A thought seems to hit her out of nowhere, bringing a big smile to her face. “Or . . . random subject change . . . unrelated to our present conversation.” She winks, letting me know that it’s right on topic. “Have you met the new doctor in town? He came in to get a new vehicle yesterday, and let me tell you, those scrubs were doing all kinds of good things for his ass. Did I mention he’s a doctor? With eyes the color of the sky on a summer day? And a new F-150 in ravish-me-all-night-red? I will definitely be on the lookout for that truck at the grocery store so I can bang his buggy in the produce section. Oops, did I do that?” She places her fingers over her mouth, eyes wide and feigning innocence, and I’m astounded that guys actually fall for that.