“He doesn’t need to do that.” I hate feeling like a burden to anyone, and right now, I feel like the egg baby project Grip has to keep alive. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Marlon doesn’t mind,” Rhyson assures me. “He has stuff to do for Grady anyway. He helps with one of his music classes.”
I just bet he does. Lies. I glance at Grip’s profile, a study in impassivity.
“Gotta go,” Rhyson says. “See you later if you’re still awake when I get home. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”
“Yeah. More hungry than anything.”
“Marlon will take care of you.” A voice in the background interrupts Rhyson. “Hey, I need to go. See you tonight.”
“Okay. Tonight.” I hold the phone to my ear for a few seconds after he’s gone just because I don’t want to talk.
I finally drop the phone to my lap, processing the longest conversation I’ve had with my twin brother in five years. I have no idea what’s going through Grip’s mind. It’s too quiet, so I break the silence with the lightest question I can think of.
“Marlon, huh?” I ask with a smile.
“Only Rhyson calls me by my real name.” He keeps his eyes ahead on the road, grimacing good-naturedly. “And my mom.”
“And Grip, where’d that come from?”
“I was in a talent show or showcase or some shit when I was a kid.” He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “I had to recite a poem and was so nervous, I kept holding onto the mic even after I was done. Just wouldn’t let go. Maybe it was like my safety blanket. Who knows? One of the kids started calling me ‘Grip’ after the show, and it stuck.”
“So even then you were craving the spotlight,” I tease.
“I guess so.” His smile fades after a few seconds. He looks briefly away from the road and at me. “I don’t mind, ya know. Staying, I mean. There’s things I can do in the rehearsal room at Grady’s house.”
I don’t bother arguing, because I seriously doubt I’ll change his mind now that Rhyson has asked him. I just nod and pretend to check the email on my phone.
“We’re here.” Grip pulls into a parking space and cuts the engine.
I look up from my phone, surprised to see the length of pier stretching from the shore out over the Pacific Ocean.
“Where’s here?”
“Mick’s. Jimmy, one of our good friends, works here. Food’s good.”
“Well that’s all I care about.”
As we’re walking up the boardwalk toward a sign that reads “Mick’s” I feel overdressed. In my sleek leather jacket and ankle boots, both black, I’m so very New York. Everyone’s milling around in bikinis, tank tops, board shorts, and flip-flops. Once we’re seated at a window booth with an ocean view, I slip the jacket off. I sense more than see Grip’s eyes linger on my arms and shoulders bared by the sleeveless shirt under my jacket. I force myself to keep my arms at my side and not cross them over my chest. I block his line of vision with the huge menu and feel as if I can breathe a little easier with it between the heat of his eyes and my skin.
“So what’s good?” I ask.
“I get the same thing every time. Burger and fries.”
I scrunch my nose, not seeing anything I want, but half-starved enough to settle. Before I can say as much, a set of perky breasts in a green bikini appear beside our table. My eyes do the slow crawl from the girl’s hot pink toenails in her wedge heels, over the skimpy cut-off denim shorts and the bikini top, which barely bridles her breasts. Bright blue eyes and blonde hair complete the California package. If all the girls look like this, and a quick glance around Mick’s dining room tells me a lot of them do, I may reconsider my secret plan to move here when I graduate.
“Hey, dude.” Perky tits leans over to drop a quick kiss on Grip’s jaw.
“Jim, what’s good, girl?” He slaps her ass, aiming a playful smile up at her. “Been missing you.”
Rewind. Jimmy’s a girl? Her name tag reads “Jimmi.” The “i” would be cuter if I wasn’t so hungry.
“I know.” Jimmi blows at the blonde bangs brushing her eyebrows. “Between shifts here and gigging all over town, there’s been no time to hang.”
“Yeah, Rhys and I were just saying the same thing,” Grip says. “We need to get everybody together.”
“My uncle’s beach house!” The blue eyes light up. “He’s out of the country and said I could crash there some.”
“We need to do that for real.”
“We could play Scrabble again,” she says. “Remember how much fun we had?”
“You sure you want to play Scrabble?” Grip lifts a skeptical brow.
“Why wouldn’t I?” She looks confused, or maybe that’s always her look. She’s very blonde, even if it may be from a bottle, so I can’t tell.
“You’re not really good at it,” he says with a grin.
“Why would you say that?” Jimmi’s hands go to her hips.
“’Cause you thought guffaw was a character from Lord of the Rings.”
“Ugh,” Jimmi half groans, half laughs. “You weren’t supposed to tell anybody that.”
Oh, my God, guffaw.
Laughter bubbles up in my throat. I try to push it down, but it’s no use. It springs from my mouth as a, well . . . guffaw. Jimmi looks a little embarrassed but manages a self-deprecating smile. Grip’s laugh matches mine.
“Jim, this is Rhyson’s twin sister Bristol. Bristol, this is Jimmi. She went to high school with Rhys and me.”
“Great.” Jimmi gives me a wry look. “Now, she’ll think I’m an airhead.”
I don’t deny it and just smile and hold out my hand.
“Nice to meet you, Jimmi,” I say. “I promise not to tell.”
“Well, thanks for that.” Jimmi squints an eye and tilts her head, considering me. “Did he say twin sister? I knew Rhyson had a sister, but I had no idea you guys were twins. I see the resemblance.”
I’m surprised she’s even heard that much about me.
“I live in New York.” I attempt a natural smile. “We haven’t seen much of each other lately.”
Jimmi’s smile shrinks, her eyes dropping to the floor.
“Oh, yeah.” She nods, avoiding my eyes. “He doesn’t get back to New York much, does he?”
“No, not much.” I agree quietly since it’s obvious she, like everyone else, knows how splintered our family is.
“So where is the maestro?” Jimmi directs the question to Grip.
“Last minute remastering with that project he was working on,” Grip says.
“Ah.” Jimmi nods, a tentative smile on her lips. “I haven’t seen him in weeks. I miss him.”
“Okay, Jim, you know the deal.” Grip’s look seems to hold a careful warning.
“I know. I know. You don’t have to worry about me.” Jimmi waves a dismissive hand in the air and turns back to me. “Did you see anything you want?”
If I’m not mistaken, the anything she wants is my brother, but I just got here, so what do I know? I deliberately shift my eyes to the menu.
“What’s good?”
“Let’s see.” Jimmi leans over my shoulder to consider the menu like she hasn’t seen it before. One of her breasts nearly pokes my eye out. I lean back in my seat to avoid a nipple.
“Careful where you aim those things,” I say before I catch my wild tongue. I’m great at keeping my thoughts to myself when it counts, but when it doesn’t, I don’t bother.
Startled blue eyes collide with mine, and I’m not sure if she expects an apology or what, but I just look pointedly from her torpedo tits back up to her face. For a beat, I think I’ve really offended her, but then she laughs until she has to bend over, giving the customers behind her an eyeful, I’m sure. Grip grins, his eyes affectionate on blonde and breasty.
“Oh, we’re gonna be friends.” Jimmi wipes the tears at the corner of her eyes. “Watch where I aim . . . that’s priceless. Okay. You like seafood?”