The person in front of us finishes ordering. The barista calls us forward.

I'm not sure what I want—my head is still screaming Cam, Cam, Cam—so I order my usual New Orleans style cold brew. The barista asks Eve if she wants another. She says yes, whips out her credit card, swipes.

She's not as seamless as Indie. Not even close to as seamless as Ty or Ian or Cam.

She's almost… awkward. Not the vision I have of her as the girl who somehow belongs to this world and shines as an outsider at once.

She's new to it too.

She's like me, really. She grew up in Brooklyn without all that much.

And now she has everything. Money and security and the love of a man who makes her come.

I swallow the jealousy that rises in my stomach. It's not even about my sister this time.

It's Cam.

I want his love. I want his lust. I want his everything.

Most of all, I want that to make sense, but it doesn't.

It can't.

We move aside, to the pickup area of the tiny shop. Eve takes another sip of her milky drink then offers one to me. "Cold brew with almond milk."

"You're having a second?"

She nods. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"Boyfriend… distractions?"

"Kind of." She offers the cup again. "You sure you don't want a sip?"

"I need it pretty sweet."

She smiles fair enough, takes the last sip, tosses the drink. "Have you ever wanted a tattoo?"

"When Indie got her first one, I thought it was really cool. I wanted to be more like her, get my own. I told her and she freaked out. Even after she got a second and a third and a fourth. Such hypocrisy, huh?"

Eve smiles. "What did she say?"

"To wait until I turned eighteen. And then, if I thought of a design I wanted, try it out for a few weeks before I get it. But I haven't wanted anything enough."

"It's not for everyone."

"Maybe." Instantly, my thoughts go to Cam. The broken heart on his chest. The feel of the ink on his skin. The lines are raised. Just barely, but they are. It's like I'm tracing some part of his soul.

"I know a good artist if you change your mind."

"Weren't you scared?"

"The first, I was. Of the permanence. And the needle. It hurts. It hurts a lot, but after a few pricks, your body starts releasing all these endorphins and it still hurts, but it's kind of a high too."

"Like… pain during sex."

She shoots me a curious look. "Sort of."

The barista calls our drinks. After Eve grabs hers, she motions to the door shall we. I nod and follow her onto the street.

I button my coat, try to hold in all my warmth, but it's a lost cause. Between the cold drink and the dull ache in my chest, I'm completely lacking energy.

How am I supposed to make it to practice?

How am I going to run sprints like this?

How can I do anything else? Cam occupying my thoughts during class is one thing. Cam keeping me from soccer is another. That's a line I can't cross. It's just… wrong.

She sips her cold brew. Lets out a soft sigh of pleasure. The one that means sweet, sweet caffeine.

"Don't you drink tea?" I ask.

She laughs. "Usually."

"But you got a coffee? Because you're tired?"

"And because there's no good tea at that place."

Indie says the same thing about most coffee shops. But she still goes for coffee with me. She still sits and sips a mediocre black tea as I groan over my latte. "We could have gone somewhere else."

"Next time." Eve smiles. "I needed the extra caffeine today." She holds out her arm to hail a cab. "Are you still thinking lingerie works? My friend's shop is open for another few hours."

She's going to a local designer. That's so her.

For a second, it annoys me. Why does she think she's so special and important?

But that's ridiculous. Local shops are what make the city great. Especially artists and designers. We're supposed to be the fashion capital of the US.

Sure, I don't get fashion, but I can appreciate it's our thing.

And where else would we go? La Perla is expensive. Victoria's Secret is disgustingly pink.

A local shop is perfect for my sister.

"Definitely," I say.

"Perfect." She points to the cab that stops in front of us. Opens the door for me. Motions after you.

I slide inside.

She slides after, instructs the driver, pulls the door closed.

And we're off, heading to an area of the city with terrible subway coverage. It makes more sense to take a cab, but it doesn't really strike me as Eve either.

Maybe I don't know her that well.

Maybe I should stop making assumptions.

Maybe I should focus on anything that isn't Cameron Hunt.

"How's the coffee?" she asks.

"Sweet."

"Too sweet?"

"I'm not sure that's in my vocabulary."

"I wouldn't peg you as someone with a sweet tooth."

Tags: Crystal Kaswell Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net