Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)
Page 57
Embarrassment? At what? She was a grown woman. Grown women had sex. Dammit, she’d had sex. Not a lot, but she’d been with men.
Had she run because of the circumstances? Because it had been a hookup? A one-night stand?
Maybe it wouldn’t have been a one-night stand if she had stayed in his bed. Or maybe it would have been; he hadn’t made any attempt to get in touch with her since that night, but there could be a trillion reasons he hadn’t, starting with the fact that men’s egos were about as fragile as cobwebs—she had three brothers, after all—and the fact that she’d walked out on him after what she could only describe as a stellar performance might just have damaged his.
“Goddammit, James, what does it matter?”
“They say it’s a bad sign when you talk to yourself, sweet sister.”
Jaimie swung around. Lissa had come out on the porch, all but hidden inside what looked like a hundred layers of sweaters and sweatshirts.
“It’s a worse sign when you try to look like the Michelin Man,” Jaimie said.
Lissa shrugged. “I forgot how cold it gets here in the winter.”
Jaimie turned back to the railing, leaned her arms on it and stared out into the night.
“It isn’t winter yet. And how could it get cold here? This is Texas.”
The sisters laughed softly. The idea that it didn’t get cold in Texas was something they’d both had to deal with. Southern Californians and Easterners were besotted with the notion that it was always hot in Texas, never mind that the northern part of the state had winters that were cold, hard and snowy.
“So,” Lissa said after a couple of minutes, “you want to talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Puh-leeze, James. Do not give me that ‘Talk about what?’ crap.”
“Puh-leeze, Melissa. Do not give me that ‘James’ crap.’”
Lissa sighed. “You even refer to yourself as James.”
“I do not.”
“You do. When you’re ticked at yourself about something, or when you’re struggling to be logical—”
“I never struggle to be logical. I am always logical.”
“Bull.”
“Listen, Melissa—”
“And I never, ever, ever, ever, call myself Melissa. Neither does anyone else. You, on the other hand—”
“OK, OK, enough. I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.”
Lissa looked at her sister. Then she sighed.
“We aren’t arguing. I asked you if you wanted to talk about it, and you figured you could get away with ignoring me.”
“I wasn’t… Talk about Em, you mean? Well, I’m happy for—”
“Something’s going on with you, Jaimie. What is it?”
“Nothing’s going on with me. Well, my job. Did I tell you I snagged a bunch of new—”
“Is it a man?”
“Is what a man?”