“No ugh. I was going to say ‘looking like she’s been thoroughly screwed.’” He didn’t smirk, or wink, or do anything that would indicate if he was kidding, being an asshole, or just being plain honest.
“You’ve got syrup on your nose.” He swiped it off with his finger and walked away.
I stared after him like I’d just woken up in some alternate universe—one where somehow I was the Black sister who’d ended up with Lucas Thorn, and he was making me pancakes in bed.
Guilt stabbed me right in the chest. Because how many times had I wanted exactly that? How many times had I measured myself against Kayla? And come up short?
Did God hate me that much? To dangle crack-filled pancakes in front of me along with the man who got away? The same man who broke my sister’s heart? And damaged countless lives?
I entertained that conundrum for possibly thirty seconds before I shoved it away and finished my pancakes. He’d always been a good cook, which was just another thing that I hated about him.
Assholes weren’t allowed to be good cooks. Or rich. Damn it, he should have been poor! With a beer belly and adult acne!
With no choice but to do the semiwalk of shame into the living room, I gathered my hair into a low ponytail, located my shoes, and shuffled barefoot into the light.
Like a loser.
“Thanks.” I dropped my shoes onto the hardwood floor and washed off my plate, then found the dishwasher and loaded it. “For the pancakes.”
Lucas was staring at me over his coffee as though I’d grown five heads.
“What?” I shrugged. “What’s that look for?”
“Did you just clean a dish?”
“Bite me.”
“You never do dishes.”
“Lucas, as much as I’d like to shove our history up your ass and light you on fire, I can’t, you know, because I wouldn’t survive prison, and they don’t have Starbucks there . . . But four years is a long time. I’ve changed.” I sighed. “I mean, both of us have. I’m a mildly successful college graduate discovering what I want to do with my life, paying my own electricity bill and you”—I pointed to him—“you . . .”
“I what?”
He took a long sip of coffee. I didn’t wait for him to swallow.
“You’re a lying, cheating whore.” I said it sweetly, even batted my eyes at him. That made it better, right?
“It isn’t cheating if—”
“Right, I get it—to you it’s not cheating if they know. To me it just seems like a really solid way to get an STD or get a girl pregnant that you don’t even like, making it so you have to fire Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday!”
“I do like them, and why not Friday?”
“Oh, I had a good feeling about her.” I smirked. “She had nice lipstick. I can see it now: an unplanned pregnancy, little Nadia moving into this chic apartment, putting her stuff all over, and you finding tampons in the bathroom, only to come out to her sobbing on the couch while the baby cries . . .” I sighed cheerfully. “The perfect family.”
Lucas went from vibrant to pale, all within the span of a minute.
“Something bothering you, Thorn?”
“Other than your voice?” He shook his head. “Nope, can’t think of a thing.”
A knock sounded at the door. Lucas nearly dropped his coffee, then stared at the door. “Shit, she’s early.”
“So.” I located my purse, tossed on the couch, and snagged it. “Just let her in, what’s the big deal? It’s not like anything happened, and your sister loves me.”
He gave me the most irritated look ever. “You’re right. I can’t think of one solid reason why it would be weird, my sister walking in, seeing you for the first time in years, looking the way you do, walking the walk of shame out of my apartment . . . her thinking that I’ve plowed my way through every Black sister. You’re right—why am I so worried?”
My heart clenched. It shouldn’t have, but that’s the thing about hearts; even when you think yours is solidly on lockdown, it still manages to twinge when someone says something hurtful, especially when they don’t even realize it is.
Then again, Lucas had gone from promising something he had no business promising a girl of seventeen—to landing in her older sister’s bed. Drunk off his ass.
I took a deep breath and paused to think. “We’ll lie.”
“No shit. Why hadn’t I thought of that?” He glared at me.
“I’m storing this conversation for later, when I throw it back in your face and give you a big fat giant ‘I told you so.’” I stomped over to the door and threw it wide open. “ERIN!” I might have said her name a smidge too loud, considering she took a cautious step back like I was about to launch myself onto her. “Long time no s-see.” Oh hell, the stutter—that wasn’t what was needed in this situation. Confidence, Avery!
Erin’s eyes narrowed, and then she shoved past me, grabbed the closest weapon, which just so happened to be the spatula, and started reaming on Lucas.
It was a really great show. Where was popcorn when I needed it?
“A little help!” he screamed in my direction while covering his head with one hand and his man parts with the other.
I yawned, checked my fingernails, entertained the thought of busting out some yoga, then very slowly raced an imaginary snail over to their location and said, “Stop, it’s okay, Erin.”