Page 64 of Severed Rivalry
Me: Glad she’s doing better.
I click a view of the setting sun through the evergreens, framing it as if I were Ayla.
Me: {Picture message}
Angel: Gorgeous. You home?
Me: At Ayla and Christian’s. The other half have personal chefs. I guess I could sell pics of my feet if it got me a personal chef.
Angel: You know that men stare at those to get off, right?
Me: We’re gross. Now I need thick, thick socks to hide my handsome tootsies.
Angel: Tootsies? You sure this isn’t Ayla messing with me?
Angel: Hi, Ayla. Thank you for last night. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to know you were here. (Or there. I’m at Rosie’s.)
Me: My sister is great, but she’s not posing as me to get to talk to you. What’re you guys up to?
Angel: Sheet masks, pedicures and manis. If we get to everything.
Me: I wish I were there.
Angel: For the pedi, I guess. Just say no to feet pics.
Me: LOL
Me: I’m glad you’re having a good day. Call me before you go to bed?
Angel: Okay.
Angel: {picture message}
The image appears, and it’s one of her feet. Her toes are separated by spongy fingers, and she has robin’s egg blue nail polish on them.
Me: Are you flirting with me, Angel?
I extend my feet from the hot tub and take a snap of my own. And send it over.
“What are you doing?”
The disbelief and humor in my sister’s voice has me bobbling my phone. I manage to catch it and hold it out of the water. Jacuzzi water or stone terrace—either option is a bad one for the brand-new device in my hand. No doubt Ayla would bitch if she had to get yet another one for me within the week. Besides, I like the texts on these.
“Sending feet pics?” I respond in question.
“I don’t want to know.” She drops her robe and slides into the tub on the opposite corner. “Seriously, I want to believe my brother has no kinks. Hell, I’d prefer to think you don’t have sexual organs. Gross.” She scrunches her face and looks disgusted.
“Right back atcha, sis.”
“How’s your girl?”
I fight the soft smile that wants to break across my face. It still hurts, but more so, it gives too much away. “She’s good. Rosie is too.”
“I notice you call her Rosie, but neverher mom. What’s the deal with that?”
“She’s an adoptive mom of sorts.”
“And her biological mom?”
