Page 15 of A Little Secret

Frankie, AKA my nemesis.

I know what you’re thinking. Finley, you’re so delightful. How can you have a nemesis? Honestly, it’s pretty easy when the said culprit is covered in mucus, has green skin, a long, sticky tongue, and isjustunpredictable enough to make any sane person queasy. Emphasis on thesane.

Crossing my arms, I pop out a hip and counter, “I make no guarantees.”

“Finley,” Dylan warns.

My badass facade crumbles, and I press my hands in a prayer gesture. “Please, please, please don’t make me watch Frankie. I’ll do anything, I swear!”

“I’ll bring you the best souvenir, I promise.” She squeezes my hands and lowers them. “But you can’t kill him.”

“What if he gets loose?” I ask. “What if he jumps on me or licks me with his sticky tongue?” A shiver runs down my spine.

“He’s not going to lick you,” she argues then hesitates. “Okay, he actually might, but only if he thinks you’re his food?—”

“Dylan!” I screech.

“You’ll be fine. And remember, frogs are friends.”

“Frogs are disgusting.”

“Disgustingly adorable,” she corrects me with a grin.

Seriously. I love Dylan. I do. But I still can’t believe she let her boyfriend gift her a frog this Christmas when we both know I’m absolutely terrified of them. Actually, now that I think about it, he likely got her the frog because I’m terrified of them.

Bastard.

Not that I don’t like Reeves. I do, actually. He’s pretty perfect for Dylan, and I’d even venture to say he had my full support in dating my best friend until he purchased the green-skinned devil.

Jerkface.

“Pickles!” Reeves calls from the main floor. It’s his nickname for Dylan. Poor girl. “We gotta get going! Come on!”

“Coming!” Dylan returns. She turns back to me. “Ialready put Frankie’s terrarium in your room on the nightstand, and his food is in the freezer.”

I blanch. The thought alone is enough to give me the heebie jeebies. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“We’ve been through this a hundred times.”

Throwing my hands into the air, I whine, “Well, you’ll have to forgive my brain for dealing with trauma by blocking it from my memory!”

“Finley,” she whines.

My bottom lip juts out, and I sigh, resigning myself to the inevitable. “Fine. I’ll watch your stupid frog.”

“And?” she prods.

“AndI’ll make sure he survives.”

She heaves a relieved breath and squeezes my bicep. “Thank you.”

“But I make no guarantees about my own safety, and if he kills me in the middle of the night,”—I wiggle my finger an inch from her button nose—“I will haunt you until your dying breath.”

Her grin grows. “Deal. Come on.” We pass the room she shares with Reeves as she tugs me to the stairs and down to the main floor, where the rest of our friends wait. Packed bags are scattered in the family room, and I nearly choke on my loneliness as I take it all in. They’re leaving. They’re all leaving. I thought I wanted the house to myself so I could make a plan and have a full-blown meltdown without any witnesses, but now that it’s here, and I really am going to be all by myself for a week, it feels…hollow almost.

My eyes well with unshed tears, and I race toward Everett. He’s standing next to Raine, his official and verynotfake girlfriend. They really are cute together, and I’m not going to lie. I like her. I really do. But right now, I need a hug from my big brother. Throwing my arms around hiswaist, I squeeze Everett as tight as I can without giving a shit how it may or may not make me look like a wackadoodle. I need him, though. I need his strength if I’m going to get through this.

How am I going to get through this?

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