Page 14 of Tangled Ambition

I grimaced, ignoring the stinging in my throat from swallowing the wrong way. “Why?”

She shrugged. “He’s cute and nice.”

“Nice? He’s not nice.”

“He was very nice to me,” she said, wiggling her fingers over her makeup, deciding what to put on next.

“That’s because he wanted to fuck you.”

She glanced at me, bronzer in her hands. “I didn’t get that vibe at all.” She swiped the golden-brown hue along her temples, nose, and chin. “I mean, he was really flirtatious but still a gentleman. Helped me with my coat and everything.”

“He’s a douche,” I mumbled, refusing to see any positives about my work enemy.

“I think he’s hot. Had a sort ofSuitsthing about him, you know?”

“No, I don’t know.”

Kennedy exchanged the bronzer for an eyebrow pencil. “You don’t think he’s hot at all?”

“No.” I lifted the TV remote, flipping through Netflix. “He has a douchey face, with the hair and eyes and bone structure. Like the douchebag guy in every ’90s teen rom-com. That’s him.”

She laughed. “You’re kind of right, but he’s still hot. Oh. No, wait! Go back.Married at First Sight, put that on.”

I settled back against the couch with my sushi, watching dumb couples get married after meeting for the first time at the altar. Something my sister would do. In fact, she had auditioned for some dating show but didn’t make it.

Thank god.

Between her tendency to jump into things without thinking and her epilepsy, I might have been a tad overprotective. But somebody had to be.

Which was why I was glad nothing had happened between her and Dean. And not at all because I felt something funny in my chest, like a knot releasing.

After the episode finished and Kennedy was dressed, she sat next to me again, her phone pointed so the both of us were on the screen as our mother answered a FaceTime call.

“There’re my honey bunnies! How are you two?”

“Great,” my sister said as I offered a monotone, “Fine.”

“Look how gorgeous you are, Kenny. You got big plans for tonight?”

“Going out with some friends.”

Mom’s smile was bright in the Nevada sunset. “What about you, Titi?”

“Hanging out at home.”

“Aw, why?” she asked as if she didn’t give birth to me. As if she hadn’t known me for thirty years.

“Not my bag,” I said, and she waved her hand, a familiar gesture that sent pieces of her long hair flying.

I recalled, how in the days after my father’s death, she could barely get out of bed, and those long tresses, which she had always prided, became limp and snarled together. I remembered how I had to help her shower and wash her hair. How I combed out all the tangles, tucked her back into bed, and then went to the kitchen to make Kennedy dinner.

“Don’t you want to keep your sister company?” Mom asked when she really meant, “Don’t you want to look after your sister?”

Because that was what I’d always done.

“Mom,” Kennedy whined. “I’m twenty-three, not thirteen.”

“Well, I like my babies to look out for each other.”

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