Page 100 of All Bets Are Off

“Well … thanks.” What else was I supposed to say? “I appreciate your support.”

“I do support you.” Cora seemed to be making up her mind. “In fact, I’m going to join your cause.”

I was convinced I’d misheard her. “Whose cause?”

“Your cause.”

“It’s not really my cause. I’m just helping.”

“Well, I’m going to help too.” Cora was firm. “I’m sick of Ryder talking down to me as if I’m twelve and he’s so much smarter. He claims I do nothing but fritter his money away. I’m going to prove to him that I do more than that.”

I glanced at Mom and found her nodding encouragingly.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Mom said. “We’ll all work together. We’re family after all, it should be that way.”

“I agree.” Cora grinned and it was something straight out of a horror movie. If I were her husband, I would be hiding the knives. “I’ll show him who does and doesn’t do anything.”

I didn’t like this. Not one little bit. There was nothing I could do about how things were playing out, though. “Okay, um, let’s start coming up with ideas. The more attention that’s drawn to the plight of the dancers, the better it is for us. Let’s start there.”

“I have a few ideas.” Cora shimmied her shoulders. “This is going to be fun.”

She was the only one who thought that. However, I was stuck with her. I had to make the best of it.

24

TWENTY-FOUR

“How do I look?”

Olivia did a pirouette in front of me, the skirt on her dress flaring out. All I could see was me taking that dress off her when we were finished with yet another charity outing with mandatory attendance according to my father.

I looked her up and down, taking longer than was necessary, and smiled. “You look okay.” That was a lie. She looked freaking amazing. The lavender color set off her hair, eyes, and skin tone. I was in the mood to banter, though.

Thankfully, Olivia was almost always in the mood to banter.

“I look like a model, and you know it,” she shot back, doing another twirl. This time I could see the panties she was wearing and there looked to be a pair of glittery lips on her butt.

“Hold up,” I reached for her, but she neatly sidestepped me, clearly anticipating the move. “What’s on your butt?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” she replied sweetly.

“Liar, liar pants on fire,” I drawled.

“I think your pants are the ones on fire,” she countered.

My lips curved. “Do you have lips on your butt? I need to see.” I reached for her again, but she was oddly agile for a woman who played zero sports.

“You’ll find out, eventually.” She winked, then planted her hands on her hips as she took in my khakis and blue polo shirt. “You have a shirt in your closet that will match my dress. I saw it the other day when I was looking around. You should change into it.”

“Why were you looking through my closet?” I leaned low so I could try to get a look up her skirt again.

“Because you wear a lot of dark colors and I thought maybe I could buy you a nice shirt to brighten up your wardrobe.”

Slowly, I tracked my eyes to her face. “You want to buy me a shirt?”

She shrugged, embarrassment tracking over her features. “It was just a thought. Don’t get weird about it.”

“Do wives often buy clothes for their husbands?” We’d been playing the Husband-and-Wife game for more than a week at this point. It seemed both of us were daring the other to embrace the “realness” of our relationship. Neither one of us had budged. Yet.

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