Page 12 of Faker
Kaitlin gives me a playful nudge.
“But I’m happy my little sister was able to find a guy as crunchy granola as her,” I say.
Addy and I are typical close sisters with vastly different personalities. I’m reserved and quiet while she’s bold and outgoing. She lives for off-the-grid adventures, while I’d rather laze around on a beach. She saves money to take a year off work and travel abroad with her boyfriend. I can’t imagine being away on vacation for more than two weeks. I live for the comforts of home.
Kaitlin rubs my shoulder. “Are you doing okay? I know it was hard when she moved in with Ryan.”
“I miss living with my baby sister of course, but Ryan is a great guy, and I couldn’t be happier for her.”
Despite my humdrum tone, it’s all true. Ryan is a catch and is one of the sweetest guys I know, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to feeling lonely in my two-bedroom duplex without Addy. I’ve tried my best to keep it to myself, though. Addy doesn’t need to worry about her antisocial big sister missing her too much.
Kaitlin’s phone rings, and I play with Libby on the playground while she chats. Crawling on the floor with a one-year-old is surprisingly therapeutic. Once she’s off the phone, we head to the food court. Watching Libby destroy a plate of chicken nuggets in her high chair is exactly what I need to get me out of my frustrated funk. I drive home feeling more centered and calm. I’m myself again.
four
Tate’s banged-up face greets me from across the hall the following morning. My jaw drops the moment I fall into my chair. His left eye is swollen, and his cheekbone is scraped to hell. Shades of green, purple, and red speckle his ivory skin. I try to remain discreet in my gawking, but he catches me before I can look away.
He gazes back at me, unblinking. Classic irritated stare. “What?”
I turn to my computer and log on, wondering if I should ignore him. I can’t. I’m too curious.
“What happened to your face?”
“I mouthed off to the missus.”
“Ha ha. You’re not even married.”
“Brilliant deduction, Emmie.” He shakes his head. I wonder if he’s hungover too. He looks like it. “Rugby. Had a match last night.”
“How very un-American,” I say, raising an eyebrow. He glances up at me, a hint of amusement on his face. I wonder how close I am to making him laugh.
A second passes and the amusement is gone. He’s seriousagain. “During one of the scrums, a guy in the pack got especially jerky with his elbows, and I caught one to the face.”
“Maybe you should be more mindful of where you position your face.” I shrug at him.
“Jesus, Emmie.” The scowl he shoots me could melt rust from metal.
“It was just a joke,” I mutter. And with that, he’s back to full-on irritation.
Will struts out of his office to Tate’s door. “Hey, did that tweet you sent about the circular saw sale— What in God’s name happened to your face?” He jolts back, bumping into the wall. I stifle a laugh.
“Rugby,” Tate says with a huff. “Got a little rough last night.”
Will whistles through his front teeth. “Yikes, my man. You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He shakes his head while shutting his eyes. “You sure? You want some ice? A Band-Aid?”
“I said I’m fine,” Tate growls through what I assume are gritted teeth. I don’t see why he has to snap at Will when he’s just trying to be nice.
“If you say so.”
A soft buzz echoes through the tiny space. Will looks down at his cell. “Ah crap. Hey, would you...”
Will clams up when he notices Tate pick up his office phone. He walks the four steps to my office, his face in a worried frown.
I’ve got a mountain of product descriptions and press releases to write for the charity homebuilding project this morning, but I can’t help but take pity. “Need some help, Will?”
