The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

Lydia blinks several times, looking at Lou like she’s a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire using a lifeline. “Should I know what you’re talking about?”

“The card, Lyd! That stupid card with the challenge about making the hottest guy in the room remember me for the rest of his life!”

“Wait a minute,” Lou chimes in. “You gave that guy your underwear?”

“You’re serious?” Lydia questions, her voice rising with each syllable. “You gave him your underwear?!”

“The card said to make him remember me for the rest of his life!” I remind them. “What are you two not understanding about this?”

“So…you took off your underwear in the middle of the dance floor and gave them to him? How the hell did I miss that?”

“I’m not a super sleuth.” I roll my eyes. “I took them off in the bathroom before I approached him. I only handed them to him on the dance floor.”

“Holy shit,” Lydia mutters through a shocked laugh and glances at Lou with big, amused eyes.

“What?” I question, looking back and forth between them. “What’s that look for?”

“Well, sweetheart,” Lou says through a cringe. “I think you’re going to be seeing a lot more of that man.”

“You think? I’m supposed to be his TA! Are you listening at all?”

“I’m not talking about that.” Lou shakes her head. “You’ll probably be seeing him around here too.”

I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Ty Winslow, right? That’s his name?”

I nod.

“Well…he’s a regular,” Lydia adds. “I’m pretty sure he lives in this neighborhood. Stops by the bakery weekly.”

My jaw drops. “And you didn’t think this was good information to have before I gave him my underwear?”

“In my defense,” Lou responds, holding up both hands in neutrality, “I just thought you were going to flirt and dance with him a little. I had no idea you had plans to make your panties disappear into his pocket.”

“So, what you’re telling me is that not only is he the professor I’m TA’ing for, but he’s also a regular at the bakery I live upstairs from and work at part time?”

Lou winces through a smile I’d like to wipe off her normally lovely face. “That is correct.”

“This is so messed up.” I let my head fall back again, emitting a whine that the most vocal of pigs would envy.

“These kinds of things always seem worse than they really are,” Lou attempts to soothe, reaching out to put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

Snapping my head forward, I eye my sister-in-law with a pointed stare, lifting one eyebrow.

“Relax, Rae,” she responds with a small smile. “You obviously talked to him today without spontaneously combusting. It should only get better from here.”

“Maybe it would have…if I hadn’t pretended to have never met him before.”

“What?” Lydia snorts. “You acted like you weren’t you from Friday night?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” I retort, holding out both hands. “He works with our father, Lydia. You know how much Dad is on my ass as it is. The last thing I need is for him to know I gave one of his professors my freaking underwear. My goal is to make him realize I can handle my own life and he doesn’t need to meddle, not make him concerned for my mental sanity so he gets even more overbearing.”

“But you eventually told him, right?” Lou asks, and I shake my head.

“No freaking way. That’s a secret I’m taking to the grave.”

Lydia narrows her eyes. “But it’s not a secret…”

“Fine.” I shrug. “It’s a truth I’m taking to the grave.”

“So…” Lou pauses. “You’re just going to act like it never happened?”

I mull over the reality, and even though it’s probably completely irrational, I’ve made my bed full of lies, and I’m going to cuddle up under the comforter of avoidance like that Kim Kardashian GIF—the one under the gray blanket. “You bet your cake-baking ass that’s what I’m going to do.”

Lou laughs outright, and Lydia mutters, “You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, probably.” I nod. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go upstairs to my apartment and bask in my misery and loathing in a hot bath. Because I have to prepare myself to face the professor who’s seen my underwear tomorrow. Again.”

Matilda, otherwise known as the bakery cat, chooses that time to walk over and rub her fur against my bare legs.

Yes, a cat in a bakery could come with some pretty expensive health code violations. That is, unless you manage to get said cat qualified as a personal “service animal” to help with something like anxiety or depression—which is exactly what Lydia and Lou did.

It’s a boon, really. Because right now? It sure feels like I could use a personal anxiety service animal of my own.

I reach down and pick up Matilda, feeling compelled to have some sort of companionship during this momentary mental breakdown of mine.