Page 66 of Just a Friend for the Lion
Just MJ.
And what if “just MJ” isn’t enough for a Lion who could have anyone?
Carina hands me a tissue, her belly nudging my elbow as she scoots even closer.
“Okay, MJ, listen to me. You are not just some scratchpost he gets to mark when he’s in the mood. You’re my baby sister. My fierce, pizza-slinging, sauce-stained, kick-ass baby sister. And you deserve a man who knows that.”
“Yeah,” Dina adds, reaching over to swipe caramel off her chin with her finger. “And if Lion Boy doesn’t? Then maybe I’ll rip his mane off myself. Wouldn’t be the first time. Or, well, we could always use a new throw rug for the fireplace!”
“Dina, we are not unaliving the man,” Carina says.
“Speak for yourself. Wolves get protective. It’s instinct.” Dina bares her teeth, then shoves another zeppole in her mouth.
I groan, wiping my eyes. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Maybe.” Carina’s lips twitch. “But you know what else we are? Ride-or-die. If you want us to help make him jealous, we will. If you want us to scare him straight, we can do that too. And if you want us to just sit here and eat chocolate with you until your belly aches—well, we’re already doing that.”
I snort through my tears.
“Great. Sisters as therapists, bodyguards, and enablers.”
“Exactly.” Dina points her caramel-dipped zeppole at me like a dagger. “And don’t forget strategists. Because if Carter Leone thinks he can just bite you, bind you, and then ghost you into thinking you’re the problem? He’s got another think coming.”
Carina leans back, hand on her belly, eyes sharp. “We’ll give him one chance to prove himself, MJ. One. But if he blows it?”
Dina grins, powdered sugar all over her lips.
“Then we show him exactly what happens when you piss off three Coppola sisters. And spoiler alert—he won’t be roaring, he’ll be whimpering.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
A broken, watery laugh, but still.
Because no matter how badly Carter messed me up, my sisters will always have my back.
Even if my stupid heart still beats like crazy every time I think of him.
“Ooh, I know what!” Dina shouts, slamming her powdered-sugar–coated hands on the counter so hard a zeppole goes flying.
Carina jerks, then lets out a very unladylike burp that echoes through the kitchen.
“Excuse me! Junior here is killing my digestive system,” she mutters, hand on her belly.
Me and Dina? We’re howling. Like bent-over, tears-in-our-eyes howling.
When I finally catch my breath, I sniff and ask, “Okay, psycho, what’s your big idea?”
“Let’s call Uncle Uzzi!” Dina declares like she just invented penicillin. “He’ll know more about Lion mating rituals than any of us.”
Carina wipes her mouth, nodding solemnly like Dina just solved world peace. “Good point. And that loveable old Witch sure likes to meddle.”
I stare at both of them, slack-jawed.
“You two are insane. Absolutely insane.”
“Maybe,” Carina says, already pulling out her phone. “But we’re insane sisters who love you. And honestly, MJ, you can’t keep flip-flopping between rage and grief—it’s exhausting.”
“I’m not flip-flopping!” I protest.
