Page 1 of Reckless Desire

ChapterOne

Sydney

“And then I watched him talking about himself with a full mouth, or remains of seaweed between his teeth.” I shudder internally at the memory.

London laughs. She sounds like a pack-a-day smoker despite a fairly healthy lifestyle—aside from the quarts of margaritas she consumes at times—and as much as I love her, I wish she wouldn’t draw attention to us. I’m on my first cocktail, not yet relaxed enough.

“Oh my God, don’t be so sour. One shitty date… so what? I’m sure there is someone on that app who clicks with you.” She leans forward and winks, amusement tugging at her lips, which is concerning by itself. Lo cultivates a permanent scowl.

We’re at the cocktail bar in the lobby of The Ritz-Carlton, which isn’t my normal social scene, and it feels like the whole place is staring at us when London cackles like that. And, of course, my sister has maneuvered the conversation around to my unfortunate Tinder dates. I suspect she might have encouraged me to try dating apps for her own distraction, even though I don’t really have any fun or exciting stories to share with her.

“Of course, I’ve chatted with several reasonable-looking and intelligent men, but once we meet it’s a disaster. One guy called me seven times within an hour after our dinner. Just to check on me.” I cringe. “Needy. Or the one who forgot to take off his wedding band.”

Hmm. Maybe my dates are a cause for laughter. Why do I even bother? “Oh, wait, there was a guy who was so annoyed I was a few minutes late, he practically didn’t talk to me for the first half of our dinner.”

London snorts.

I take a sip of my drink. God, this strawberry margarita tastes good. The only good thing about this evening.

“And those who’re the most interesting only want sex.” Online dating is depressing.

“What’s wrong with that?” London narrows her eyes and shakes her head like I’ve just said something ridiculous. She’s not interested in love, but she doesn’t shy away from a hook-up. Ruthless during the day and fun and loose at night. I envy her. Well, some of it.

“Not exactly the way I want to start a relationship. I’m not on that stupid app for one-night stands.” Jesus, I may need another cocktail.

I love hanging out with London. I’m closest to her of all my siblings. Perhaps because we have a similar, practical, realistic—some say pessimistic—outlook on life. We live in different circles because London manages her money more aggressively than I do, but we still spend time together regularly.

She is sensitive to my financial situation—not that she knows much about it—and we usually choose somewhere less posh, less ostentatious, and more comfortable for my budget.

Today, we’re catching up on my birthday celebration—four months later—and London insisted we meet here since it’s her treat and all. The location surprised me because Lo is the last person who wants to spend money on things. Experiences, yes, but things are a waste for her.

This being my birthday outing, I wish we were somewhere I’m not reminded of how ordinary I am. But knowing her, I bet there is some experience planned.

London is wearing a beautiful navy blue jumpsuit hugging her tall figure in all the right places. I’m pretty sure it’s from a secondhand store, but she wears it as though it was tailored for her. She’s not curvy like me, but nevertheless very feminine. Her dark hair is styled into effortless-looking waves and her makeup is perfection.

Me, on the other hand? My brown hair is in desperate need of a retouch and in a bun—styledby necessity because I didn’t have time to wash it. In my green wrap dress, I’m acutely aware of how not glamorous, not attractive and very average I’ve become in the last three years.

Perhaps the margarita is not that good after all, just spiraling me into melancholy. This entire bar isn’t good for my self-esteem. Why did she even bring me here?

“You need to loosen up. The whole point of signing you up on that site was to get your coochie serviced finally.”

I roll my eyes and take another sip. No amount of alcohol can drown out London’s well-meant and utterly annoying efforts to find me a man.

“I’m perfectly fine in that department.” Not entirely true.

She throws her arms up. “Oh please, a vibrator wasn’t invented to replace a man. Just to carry us over. But your dry spell is concerning. It’s been three years since that asshole husband of yours died. Three years!” She raises her eyebrows.

My stomach tightens at the mention of Jeremy. How could you love someone so much only to discover you didn’t know them at all? Yet I’m offended on his behalf that she called him an asshole.

“Come on!” London shakes her head. “Enough with the sour face. Whatever happened to my fun and carefree sister? I want her back.” She pouts like a spoiled child.

She is no child, or spoiled. Lo was Bianca’s—our stepmother’s—sweetheart. Always willing to go shopping, get manicures and do all the other things daughters do with their mothers. Until she wasn’t. She lost her spark and belief in love over several horrible months when she was seventeen and her darker side won over.

Frankly, she is the last one who should call me out on not being fun and carefree anymore.

“That girl is gone, Lo. I’m a deep-in-debt, responsible adult now.”

She twists her lips, unimpressed. “Point taken. Still, you’re an adult who needs her lady parts taken care of.”

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