“I don’t know, Adam—”
“We have a good thing going on here. I, for one, am not about to ruin that. We have sex. We enjoy having sex together. And we can keep enjoying sex together until we grow tired of each other. End of story.”
I wanted to believe him. I also really didn’t want to believe him. That was the crux of the problem.
But then he lifted me so that my legs wrapped around his waist and carried me back to his bed.“I think there’s been enough talking, don’t you?” he asked before his mouth devoured me all over again.
**
“You weren’t here when Whitney got in last night,” Mom said, looking up from the paper as I entered the kitchen late the next morning.
I had purposefully stayed away, though I’d never tell my mother that. I wasn’t too old for a good old-fashioned June Galloway scolding. “Sorry, Mom. I was working on the mural until late—”
“And then you were with Adam.” Mom gave me a shrewd look. “I figured as much when you didn’t get home until the cocks started crowing.”
My cheeks felt warm. “A few of us were hanging out. It wasn’t just Adam and me,” I lied. And lied badly.
“Mmhmm,” was all Mom said, pushing her glasses up on her nose and returning to the paper.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter, blowing across the top to cool it down. I needed the caffeine desperately. Mom was right; I came home just as the sky started to lighten. Adam had tried to get me to stay the night, but I wouldn’t. Sleeping next to him would be taking things to a level I refused to go to. Adam knew that too. So when I declined the invitation, for once, he didn’t push me.
“Adam and I are only friends. Isn’t that what you wanted? For us to be friends again?” I asked, keeping my voice light.
Mom folded the paper in half and gave me a keen look. “Yes, but is that really what’s going on?”
I took a sip of coffee to delay answering her. “Of course. What else would it be?”
Mom shook her head. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can never lie to me.”
I opened my mouth to argue with her when Whitney breezed into the room, silk robe flowing behind her like Cleopatra.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice rough with tiredness. She leaned down to kiss the top of Mom’s head. Her red hair was piled up high, a few tendrils trailing over her shoulders. Even though she was most likely jet-lagged, she looked like she had just returned from a spa weekend. I never felt inadequate in the looks department; I knew I was pretty. My self-esteem had never been an issue. But Whitney was something else entirely. Her looks were old Hollywood glamorous. She was gorgeous without even trying, which was why she went through men the way some women went through underwear.
When she got her first job as a set makeup artist, I thought it was only a matter of time until she transitioned onto the big screen herself, she had the looks and charisma for it. When she started out, she was a different person. People were drawn to her kindness. But something happened to my sister, something that changed her. And I had no idea what it was.
I was still adjusting to the news that one of my best friends had spent almost a week with her years ago, and I had never heard about it. I wanted to ask her about it, but just as I had grown out of sharing confidences with her, she had done the same with me.
“Cup, please.” Whitney held out her hand, and I suppose I was meant to hand her a mug. Was she going to snap her fingers at me?
“What’d your last slave die of?” I snapped.
Whitney’s mouth pursed.
Mom sighed. “Don’t start, Meg. It’s too early in the morning for your fighting.”
Whitney reached into the cabinet and pulled out Dad’s favorite cup. I snatched it from her hand. “You can’t use that.”
Whitney tried to grab it back, but I kept it out of reach like we were kids.
“He’s not here to use it, is he?” she replied hatefully, and I felt the words like a punch to the face.
“Real nice, Whit. I see the flight has done wonders for your personality.” I put Dad’s mug back on the shelf and handed her another one.
Whitney had the decency to look ashamed. “That was a shitty thing to say. Sorry. I’m just tired. The time difference is a killer.” She attempted to give me a smile that I didn’t bother to return.
Mom was watching the two of us closely. Probably waiting to see if she needed to play bouncer. “I have to run some errands. Can I trust leaving the two of you home alone together? Or can you use the time to catch up as sisters should?” Mom slid her glasses up onto her head and waited for our reply.