Page 5 of How to Prevent a Fumble

Answer the Goddamn phone!An angry text reads the second it’s done ringing.

Edward, my publicist, has been less than thrilled with me lately, and I don’t blame him. I keep fucking up. Making more work for them. Why? I don’t know.

Why not?

I just want to live my life in peace. Why does the country care who I’m with at three in the morning?

Just as I’m about to turn away, another text comes in.Did you pick up your suit for the dinner?Owen asks. He knows I never remember.

Obviously, I haven’t yet.

I also haven’t answered the podcaster Idefinitelyaccidentally skipped out on the other day, or the radio station who’s been hounding me for an interview for the last couple of weeks. Edward keeps telling me I have to do these things. It’ll be good for my image.

But I just don’t have time. And I don’t want to. I have things to do. Like brush my hair.

Trudging over to my couch, I flop down before tossing my head back on the cushion. The twilight sky out my window casts the most gorgeous pinks and yellows across the inner harbor.

I sit there for a long time. Not a thought running through my mind. It’s not until the sun is set completely that I break free from my trance, the room dark except for the subtle glow from the aquarium across the way.

The sunsets have always looked amazing from here. It’s part of the reason I got this place. There was no other view I wanted. No other view my sister deserved. The second I bought my place, I was trying to convince her to move into the place next door. She’s always been so talented. I knew the sunsets would be inspiring.

I’m proud of how far she’s come.

I’m about to get up when I hear a soft knocking, and for a second I think Isla and Owen may be getting weird next door, and I gag. But the closer I listen, the more I think it’s coming from the hallway.

Heading for the door, I have to mentally smack my hand to not grab my sister’s spare key. I only have a little longer with them, may as well annoy her until then, right?

But when I open my door I realize it’s not Isla making the noise. It’s not Owen, or any of our neighbors.

It’s Briar, with Elara in tow.

She looks stressed, her blonde hair thrown up in a messy ponytail, her black dress not quite sitting right on her. Her makeup looks half done, like she’s been doing what she can on the go.

She stands in front of my sister’s door, her hand outstretched to knock again. I lean against my door frame as we lock eyes, crossing my arms over my chest.

As she opens her mouth to say something to me—likelyfuck off, Leo—her daughter beats her to it.

“Hi Leo!” she calls, her big brown eyes sparkly.

“Trying to have some late night Aunt Isla time?” I ask her with a smile.

She purses her lips, her eyes flickering up to her mom before she shrugs.

“I had something come up,” she snaps, but I can tell that she’s stressed. More than stressed, she’s panicked.

I take another look at her outfit. A black cocktail dress with a deep neckline, cinched at the waist before flowing over her gorgeous hips. My eyes linger on her gorgeous, muscular legs before drifting down to her black heels.

“A date?” I ask shortly.

She scoffs, knocking once more on my sister’s door. “Fuck you, Leo.”

“Mom!” Elara gasps. “You told me I wasnotallowed to say fuck.”

“And here you are, saying it,” Briar sighs dramatically, closing her eyes.

“I don’t think they’re home,” I tell her finally, realizing how truly tired she seems.

She doesn’t open her eyes, but I watch as she bites the inside of her cheek, her shoulders slumping.

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