Corbin shakes his head. “Perfect families like that freak me out. Lord knows what’s hiding in their closets.”
I smile and laugh, but I know the Dawsons aren’t like that. They’re perfect in my eyes. But they’re not without their faults.
Maybe we’re not so different after all.* * *
“I thought they misspoke when they called my name.” Heather’s arms are crossed tightly over her chest, and she’s sporting a new bruise on her temple. I’m not even going to ask.
“Funny, Heather.”
“It’s been what, two weeks since I’ve seen you?” She cocks her eyebrows and stares me down as if she just caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.
“That’s not my fault.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the reason I haven’t seen you is because you’re in jail.” My words come out harsher than I meant. Trumpets will sound the day she grows the fuck up and takes responsibility for her actions. “I’ve been busy.”
“Too busy to see Dad?”
“I saw him today.”
“And that was the first time since you came out this way last?”
The woman who obviously eavesdropped on our conversation the last time I was here comes into the room. Her eyes fall on me for a few seconds before she moves in and takes a seat at a nearby table.
“No, I saw him last week.”
“And you didn’t come see me?” The pitch of Heather’s voice goes up. Dammit. She takes things too personally, and I know she has to be miserable in here. Knowing I was in the area but didn’t stop by stings, but it’s not like that.
“It’s a two-and-a-half-hour drive from here to Eastwood, and I was tired. Plus, I needed to get back for…for dinner.”
“You couldn’t come see me so you could fucking eat dinner? It better have been a damn good meal.”
“The food was good,” I admit. Though the company is even better. “What happened to your face?” I change the subject, knowing asking about her injuries will piss her off too, but at least she’ll be pissed off for a different reason.
“This is what happens when you try and stay out of trouble.” She motions to her face. “But it’s been handled.”
“Handled?”
Heather lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s hard to explain unless you’ve been in here, okay?”
I nod. “Okay. I just want you to come home.”
“Do we even have a home anymore? Aren’t you living with some rich family in East-something-or-other.”
“Eastwood, and I told you, he’s a single dad and not rich.”
“So that’s your home. Where am I going to go?”
I shake my head. “I’ll figure it out.”
“What if I get out tomorrow?”
She won’t, so that’s not even a concern. “I’ll come get you.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll take you back with me.”
She lets out a snort of laughter. She’s angry at something else and is taking it out on me. “And I could stay in the house you’re living at?”
“No, I don’t think Wes would be okay with that,” I say honestly. “But we’d get you a hotel room until we could set up something more permanent.”
“We?”
“Yes, I know Wes would help me. He’s a good guy.”
Instead of coming back with a sassy comment, Heather smiles. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”
“I do like him, but not in the way you’re insinuating. He’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, you said that.”
Heat rushes through me. “Okay, yeah…he’s attractive and if I wasn’t his son’s nanny, I’d make a move. Another move, since Jackson kind of cock-blocked us the first time.” I shake my head. “But he’s a good guy, Heather. One of the rare, really good ones. And I’m, well, not. I took the job as a nanny with the intentions of conning money out of him. I’m a horrible person.”
Heather laughs and reaches across the table, taking my hands. “Scar, don’t even say that. You’re not a horrible person. We’ve all done things we’re not proud of. And this orange jumpsuit proves it on my end.” She gives my hands a squeeze. “So what are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s not my older sister talking.”
“He’s my boss. What if we hook up and then it’s weird? I live with him and his son.”
“But what if it’s not weird?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. He doesn’t strike me as the kind who would be okay with a fuck-buddy type of relationship. If we hooked up, things between us would go to the next level.”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
God yes. I’d love to be Weston’s girlfriend. To go out together and actually cuddle on the couch as we’re watching horror movies, staying up way too late and then crawling up to bed together. We’d be so tired but unable to keep our hands off each other, and we’d have sleepy, lazy sex that only couples who have reached a deep level of comfort have.
“I wouldn’t mind,” I tell my sister. “But then I’d have to disclose personal info, and I don’t know how he’d feel about me if he knew, well, everything.”