Page 37 of The Neighbor Wager

She smiles warmly at me, then turns to River and goes straight to ice. “Have you ever asked him about his art?”

“What specifically?” I ask.

“The project with the blonde,” she says.

I’m sure there are a lot of projects with a blonde. The same blonde, in different settings. Especially back when he was in high school. Those were his peak Lexi years.

“We were going to work on a project together,” she says. “A fantasy musical.”

“Ambitious,” I say.

“That’s high school. He had this whole role cast. A beautiful blonde princess,” she says.

Okay, I see where this is going.

River shoots Alice adon’tlook.

She ignores it. “The sketches were beautiful. And specific. I thought maybe she was based on someone. An Old Hollywood celebrity. Or maybe his mother. Have you ever seen a picture of his mother?”

“Yes.” I’ve seen the pictures in his grandma’s house, and I saw her once or twice when she came to visit. She looks more like River. Dark hair, dark eyes, intense stare.

“Then you know,” Alice says. “Not a blue-eyed blonde with fuck-me tits.”

“That’s a rude way to describe another woman’s body.” Even if Lexi uses it herself, as a compliment-slash-question to meanis this outfit sexy enough.

“Not the woman. The drawing. She was pure male fantasy.” She fills a cocktail shaker with vodka, fresh lime, orange liqueur, cranberry. “The woman was pretty, too. Not quite so exaggerated.”

That’s my sister she’s talking about. I bite my tongue. “She can’t help having great tits.”

“Is she okay?” Alice asks River.

River laughs. Amused by me, again. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re right, though. I shouldn’t judge other women. Especially given my outfit.” She points to her own ample, well-displayed chest. “And my own taste in women,” she adds. “But I’m not the better person.”

Is that an apology? I can’t tell.

“I still hate River,” she says. “But I’m not mad anymore. I’m just glad I got out. Do you know how awful it feels to love someone who’s in love with someone else?”

“I do,” I say.

River raises a questioning brow at me, and I want to kick myself for letting that slip.

“Then you know.” She slams the shaker on the bar with a softthud, then strains the drinks into two martini glasses. “Here. On the house. Consider it a consolation prize.” She looks to me. “Good luck, princess. Lord knows you’ll need it.”

River doesn’t object or press her. He nods a goodbye, takes one glass, and motions for me to take another.

I move away from her glare, find a booth on the left, and sit down.

There’s something strange about the space. It’s cozy—we’re close together—but it’s exposed, too. Everyone here can see us. Anyone can watch us.

“Do you really drink cosmos?” I ask. “Or is that to mess with me?”

“Could be one. Or the other. Or both.” He brings the drink to his lips. His eyes flutter closed as he takes a sip. He holds it, enjoys it, swallows, sighs like he’s tasting heaven.

Or maybe like he’s imagining the taste of Lexi’s lips.

“That might be laced with arsenic,” I say.

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