“You ass.”
Chapter Two
ARLO
“Good morning,” I say as Coraline comes stumbling down my stairs, her hair a goddamn mess, and her makeup smeared under her eyes.
Leaning against the counter in my kitchen, I hold a warm cup of coffee close to my chest as I watch my sister blindly make her way to the coffee pot and pour herself a cup. With a sweep of her hand, she moves her long chestnut-colored hair out of the way and takes a large sip.
Her head falls back as she says, “Praise Jesus.”
“I’m gathering you had too much to drink last night?”
“What gave you that impression?” she asks, taking another large sip and working her way to the bar-height chairs at the island.
“The stench you brought into the kitchen.”
She lifts her shirt to her nose and sniffs. “I don’t smell.”
“Hard to smell booze when you’ve been sleeping in it all night.”
“God, what crawled up your ass?”
Lifting off the counter, I rest my hands on the island in front of me. “Need I remind you whose house you’re staying at while you get your life back together?”
Her silver eyes snap to mine. “And need I remind you why I’m here? Because until my divorce is final, I’m not allowed to touch any of my finances. Trust me, this would not be my first choice of places to be.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a stuck-up asshole.”
I chuckle. “Tell me how you really feel, Coraline.”
She smiles and sighs. “Stop being a jerk and make me some bacon.”
“Nice try, sis.” I toss a protein bar at her, grateful for our playful ribbing. “I’m heading out.”
“Going to go buy your first-day-of-school cardigan?”
“Do you really think I’d wait until the day before to purchase something so important?”
“True.” She opens the protein bar, no doubt eager for food and coffee to soak up the alcohol. “Where are you headed?”
“Sporting goods store. Need some new running shirts and shorts . . . maybe some shoes.”
“Sunday shopping spree. Don’t you want to take your desperate and lonely sister with you?”
I shake my head. “Not when you smell like that.”
“Give me ten minutes. I can smell like a flower and look presentable. We can go through the McDonalds drive-thru and get hash browns for my hangover, and then I can help you pick out some supreme workout clothes.”
I study her. “Are you going to make me to buy you shit?”
“Yes.” She smiles. “But you love me.”
“Unfortunately.” I nod toward the stairs. “Hurry up, I’m leaving in ten.”
“I know I said ten, but give me fifteen.” She winces and then quickly says, “To accommodate for the hangover. I’m moving slower than normal.”
“Fine. Fifteen. Hurry up.”
“You’re the best.” She slowly takes off toward the stairs and shouts, “Sibling Sunday!”
Shaking my head, I hold back my smile and drain the rest of my coffee just as my phone buzzes next to me.
With a quick glance, I spot a message from my group text thread with my best friends Gunner and Romeo. I can only imagine what this is about.
I rinse my mug out and put it in the dishwasher, grab my phone, lean against the counter again, and read the text.
Gunner: So . . . did Gibson and Garcia spend the night?
Exactly what I thought he was going to ask.
Last night, after everyone left, Gunner was on his way out when he spotted Greer and Stella on the lounge chair. He patted me on the back and wished me luck before he took off. I waited a good ten minutes in the hopes that they would figure out everyone was gone before going over there and kicking them out of my backyard.
Arlo: No. They stumbled their way to an Uber.
Romeo: Why are you asking if they spent the night? Did Turner finally talk to Greer? Solve his differences?
Gunner: Did you?
Sighing, I sink into my position and type them back.
Arlo: There are no differences to be solved. And they were practically passed out in a lounger. I had to escort them out of my backyard—literally.
Gunner: Oh damn. Don’t blame them though, I’m not much of a champagne drinker and that shit was good.
Romeo: Top notch.
Gunner: So nothing happened?
Arlo: What do you suppose would happen?
Gunner: A passionate love affair.
Romeo: LOL. You’re such an idiot.
Arlo: Something Romeo and I can agree upon.
Gunner: Mark my words, you two are going to get it on at some point. I see it in the way you look at her.
Arlo: And how is that exactly?”
Gunner: You know . . . all growly.
Romeo: Growly? Dude . . .
Arlo: Good thing you teach physical education. Stick with bats and balls, man.
Gunner: You know what I mean.
Arlo: We really don’t.
Gunner: Like you’re going to pounce.
Romeo: I think he’s comparing you to a lion.
Arlo: Seems that way.
Gunner: You don’t have to be dicks.
Romeo: You’re trying to hook everyone up in a relationship now that you’re in one. Be honest, that’s what this is.
Gunner: No.
Romeo: Bullshit.
Arlo: As much fun as this was, I’m heading out. See you nitwits tomorrow.
Gunner: Did you pick out your first day cardigan?
Romeo: What color is it?
Arlo: That’s not a thing.
Gunner: Turner . . .
Arlo: Fine. It’s green. Now fuck off.
“Why do you think these hash browns are so good?” Cora asks, mouth full.
“Grease that’s probably been reused for months on end.”
“Well, good on them.” She takes another bite. “They’ve found the hidden secret to a hangover cure.” She leans back into her seat, and says, “Bitching party last night, bro.”
“Glad you evicted yourself from your room long enough to enjoy it.”
“Are you calling me a hermit?” She licks her fingers.
After turning right, headed toward the mall, I say, “You haven’t been social.”
“Not much to talk about.”
And that right there is why I hate my shit-for-brains ex-brother-in-law. What he did to Cora . . . It burns me watching her act reserved. She’s . . . shuttered now. I hate it.
“It’s not healthy to hold everything in.”
“This coming from the man who’s harboring feelings for the newest addition to the faculty.”
I stop at a stop sign and turn toward her. “Where the hell did you—” Fucking Gunner. They were hanging out last night. “Don’t listen to a goddamn thing Gunner says.”
“It was actually Romeo.” She chuckles.
“Don’t listen to either of them. And don’t hang out with them. They’re idiots.”
“You hang out with them.”
“Because they’re my only option.”
“Doesn’t say much about you if your only options for friends are idiots.”
Sighing in frustration, I say, “Just don’t listen to anything they say.”