The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

Several years ago, Winnie revealed to the family that Lex had been diagnosed as high-functioning on the autism spectrum. I know it was hard for my sister at first, but none of us were all that surprised. Lexi has always been special. She isn’t your average kid—she’s mountains above it. And her magnificent mind is something to be marveled and cherished. Revered by everyone around her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I remove one hand from my niece’s shoulders to dig it out. But almost immediately, a knot of anticipation dissolves when I see that it’s Ty.

Maybe I’m not so cool with questions going unanswered forever either.

As quickly as the thought comes, I shake it off and tuck my phone back into my pocket. As we descend the stairs into the subway, focusing on Lexi takes priority, and my shithead smarty-pants professor brother can wait.

Pasta and fresh bread abound on our table at Prima, one of my most frequented restaurants in Little Italy. It’s upscale without being pretentious, and as a bonus, my brother-in-law and sister know the chef.

Lexi’s eating can sometimes be picky, so having someone who understands at the helm in the kitchen really is invaluable.

She digs into her perfectly plated spaghetti with enthusiasm, twirling the strands around her fork and practically unhinging her jaw to get the large bites inside. One of the many reasons that I love hanging out with my niece so much is that she always makes me smile.

I peek briefly again at my phone, just to check and see if there have been any missed texts or calls, and then slide it back into my pocket and pick up my fork again. I’ve got a slice of chicken Parmesan halfway into my mouth when Lexi takes a break from scarfing to speak.

“You’re looking at your phone a lot today,” she muses, just as my chicken hits a spot in my throat that makes me choke.

I hack my way through the discomfort until I get a handle on it, dabbing my mouth with my napkin and setting my fork on my plate to ask, “Excuse me?”

“You’ve looked at your phone a lot today,” she repeats slowly, as if I’m not fluent in English or something.

My eyebrows draw together, a little defensive. I mean, I haven’t looked at it that much. Have I? “Why would you say that?”

“Because, on average, you look at your phone five times a night when we’re together, and so far tonight, you’ve looked at it fifteen times.”

“Fifteen?” I question with a shake of my head. “That can’t be right.”

She eyes me earnestly, and I immediately shake my head. C’mon, Jude, who do you think you’re talking to? You can’t snow Lexi on the facts.

My chest burns with unease at having completely lost my normal indifference, and as it’s not something I’m used to, I don’t like the feeling.

I suppose I could ask myself why I’m waiting so eagerly to hear from Sophie Sage, but being that I’m here with my niece and the thoughts associated with Sophie are anything but appropriate in mixed company, that doesn’t seem like a good idea at all. My only other option, of course, is to deflect. Thankfully, executing an old swerve and strike on one of my brothers is much easier. It’s like second nature, to be honest.

“Yeah, but I bet your uncle Remy looks at his phone way more when he’s with you.”

He’s a day trader, for fuck’s sake. He has to keep up with stocks and shit.

Lexi shakes her head, and I swear, if I didn’t know her better, I’d think she was smirking and mocking me. As it is, I know better. Still, the look stings. “Uncle Remy doesn’t get on his phone at all when I’m with him.”

“Not at all?” I ask disbelievingly.

She nods. “Only to call my mom or dad when he’s bringing me home or they’re picking me up.”

Well, hell. No wonder the suck-up is the goddamn favorite uncle.

Determined, I resolve to dispense with the phone shit for the rest of the night.

If only getting rid of the nagging need to hear from Sophie were that easy.

Wednesday, March 14th

Sophie

The now infamous paper feels damp between my fingers as I flip it over again and read through the numbers one more time.

917-555-8858

With the number of times I’ve read through them in the last few days, I most definitely have them memorized. And still, I haven’t been able to bring myself to throw it out or burn it or even stow it away.

Instead, it lingers. In my purse, in my pocket, and when I get a free moment like right now, in my hand.

Despite all of that, I haven’t decided. To call him, not to call him, to let fate take its course or to pointedly avoid him. All of them have some level of appeal, and the more I think about it, the more I talk myself in circles.