Page 113 of All Twerk, No Play

“Foundation would make you look older than Cruz!” Adriana said, and Victoria scoffed.

“Wait, you’re older than him?” Luisa asked.

“How old do you think I am?” Tori asked my baby sister.

Luisa shrugged. “Twenty five?”

“Oh my god, I love you,” Victoria’s laugh punched me in the chest. She shot me a half-smile. “That sister can stay.”

“She wants to cover up those amazing freckles—” Adriana said.

“Blemishes,” Victoria corrected. “I got teased for them, started wearing foundation when I was 13.”

“Freckles are in, Tori,” Adriana said bossily. “I fake them with broccoli on my clients, and I want them visible on my Instagram makeover.”

Victoria’s lips parted, her gaze shifting to me. I could see the question in her eyes, ‘What do you think? Do I look alright?’

I crossed to the couch and held out my palm, like so many times before—in the club to make Alex jealous, distracting her from her sex contract, goofing around with Kate and Mallory, on the pool deck this afternoon. She didn’t hesitate to slide her hand into mine.

“Your freckles are adorable.” I cupped her cheek, feeling the warmth of her bare skin under my hand. “Even without makeup, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Fine, you can take the picture without foundation,” she said … but I didn’t let her go.

My palm found the small of her back as our bodies started swaying to the beat only we could hear. Lyrics poured out of my mouth, easy to sing because they were true: a man reassuring his partner that she looked wonderful.

Her warm hand rested on my chest, and I let my eyes drop closed. Between my verses, she hummed the familiar guitar riff. Her breath warmed my neck as she followed my lead, trusting me to hold her, fitting herself against me like she belonged in my arms.

At the bridge, I realized what four-letter word I was a few lines away from confessing.

I stopped singing. Not because I didn’t want to say the words … but because I finally understood them. If I let them slip out—even in the safety of the song—they’d be real.

I coughed to cover the sudden rush of emotion, twisting to the sink to chug a whole glass of water. I tapped my fist on my chest. “Sorry, I guess I just—”

Tori stepped back to give me space. “Your throat is probably raw from screaming Green Day in the car.”

Over Tori’s shoulder, Mama leaned against the couch, hand on her throat. From the soft look in her eyes, I knew she knew. She studied me for a second, then smiled.

I nudged Victoria towards Adriana’s ring light, “Your adoring fans await, enjoy your photo shoot.”

But she leaned closer to whisper, “I have another confession.”

Her warm breath heated my cheek, my heart pounding so hard that I almost couldn’t breathe. Could she tell that I was barely holding back from spilling out my heart?

“I lied in the elevator. I said I liked being an only child,” she whispered before her gaze flicked to the textbooks and makeup. “I always wanted little sisters.”

"Come to My Window," Melissa Etheridge

Tori

Nervesflutteredinmystomach as Connor and I stepped into Donnelly’s, finding our reserved table near the stage. I pulled my buzzing phone out of my purse, hoping it was Cruz texting before their set started to make plans for tonight after the show—ideally ending in my bedroom, where he slept most nights now.

But it was just Dad calling, again. Since we’d left the Hamptons a few weeks ago, Dad called every day, probably to rant about leaving the party early, or my responsibility to the family, or some other bullshit complaint. I rolled him to voicemail, again.

I ordered potato skins and a bourbon Manhattan, but Connor told the server: "I know she's ordered it classic, make that a perfect bourbon Manhattan." When I raised a brow, he shrugged. "You always complain that it's too dry, then forget you don't like it. Just order it with sweet vermouth." I blinked a few times. Had we been celebrating enough for him to notice my drink order?

“Looking good, lady,” Kate said, dropping into the chair beside me, her oversized purse thudding on the floor. She gave an approving nod at the dress she’d helped me pick out, insisting I needed sexier dresses for track season later this summer … and earmarking the ones she intended to borrow. “Told you the sweetheart neckline would look amazing.”

“You’re right,” I said, still self-conscious about how much skin I was showing. When Kate had pulled this one off the rack, I’d blocked out my internal monologue of Beverly’s voice criticizing too much décolletage. Instead, I swung open the door and Kate’s squealed, “Holy shit, your tits look incredible. You can’tnotbuy that one.”

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