Page 89 of Trusting You

“Astor’ll do it,” I say automatically, knowing that she will. She’s been blowing up my phone wanting to see more of Lily, and I’ve been resisting blowing her up for dogging me out to Carter before I had a chance to do it. But, this is a good reason to see my sister again. “And you haven’t been out since that night”—we explosively almost had sex—“you went out with Astor. And I think you should see some Brooklyn nightlife while you’re here.”

While she’s here. That begs repeating, since sometimes I forget how soon Carter’s going to move back to Florida.

You’re no good for her. This can never work.

But her eyes slide sideways. She’s watching Lily, and I’d pay anything to listen to what’s going on behind that gorgeous caramel stare. “I guess…”

“You gotta come.”

“I mean…” She pulls at a loose strand of hair, all curly and swirly from the humidity of an incoming storm. “I did sell a painting today.”

“You what?” I rise to a stand, taking Lily with me, my knee nothing but an afterthought. I offer a hand and pull Carter up as well. “Dude, that’s awesome!”

A giggle escapes her, a happy, unexpected twirl of sound that she covers with her hand. “I know, right? Who’d’ve thought someone would want to buy my stuff?”

“Was it the flower-face one?”

Her gaze flickers as she studies me. “You know that one?”

“It’s…yeah. When you had them here, it was the first I opened and, hell, Carter, it was stunning.”

She doesn’t scoff at me or call me a dumb jock who doesn’t know shit about art. “Really? You think so?”

I ask, “Is that the one that sold?”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Then there’s your answer, sweetheart.”

She clasps her hands in front of her. “Oh, my God. I sold a painting.”

“You sold a goddamned painting.” I grin.

“I sold a goddamned painting!” She squeals, then claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and on Lily. But Carter recovers by leaping into my arms.

When she jumps, this time I’m ready for her. I carry both my girls and even do a little spin. Carter’s hand slips, skimming down my bare back, and I swear she leaves a chemical trail behind.

“I—” She feels the moment, too, because Carter immediately backs off.

“So, come tonight,” I say, giving Carter the escape from any awkwardness. “Celebrate.”

Carter looks to Lily. Maybe Lily can answer, because she claps her hands, then begs to be let down so she can explore the room. If only decisions could come that easily.

“And,” I add, “while we may be going to our favorite bar, I won’t be drinking. My vice of choice is tonic with lime these days.”

“I wasn’t wondering,” Carter says, but we’re both remembering that one time a few nights ago when Carter did a full inventory of my kitchen, then my closets, and under every bed—including under Lily’s crib. That last one was a hard hit to my solar plexus. But as expected, Carter found nothing.

“I’m not sure if your friends like me,” Carter says instead of elaborating.

“They don’t know you. Give them a chance. Tonight’s the perfect opportunity.”

I didn’t get into why she wanted them to like her, but I figure in any case, it's points in my favor, so I’m not about to push it.

“You’re not going to let up, are you?” she asks.

Carter asks it in a way that tips up one side of her mouth, an expression I haven’t seen since that brutal morning where she found the pill bottle.

“Not a chance,” I reply.

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