17. Sister knows best
CHAPTER 17
SISTER KNOWS BEST
CHARLIE
I say yes. Of course I say yes. I’m a masochist, apparently, and when it comes to Emma, I’ll take every scrap I can.
“You need to be careful.”
Reese unclips Ziggy’s lead, jingling like Santa’s sleigh as she follows me into the kitchen. Pants with pockets at the knees should be illegal, but she refuses to throw them out no matter how often I’ve threatened her with breaking in and doing her the favor of burning them. At least she’s got my good taste in music.
I take the lead from her and place it on the counter. Meanwhile, the Mastiff-German Shepherd pup has already located the dog bed and toys I keep here for doggie sleepovers like this.
“Calm down, Sally Jessy Raphael. I’ll be fine.”
There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.
The key to not getting hurt? Not needing anyone. And since Emma’s only asking me because she hates me so much, I doubt it’ll be a problem.
Maybe there’s something funky in my DNA, but Emma’s anger only makes her hotter. There’s brimstone in her green eyes when she gets riled up, and if there’s one thing I’m happy to be, it’s a sinner.
I’ll eagerly enter every circle of her hell.
“It’ll get messy,” Reese says.
“It can’t. She hates me.”
She levels me with a look. “Maybe if you stopped being such a jackass to her, she’d stop saying that. If you let her see the real you?—”
Here we go again.
“Then she’d realize that you’re nothing but a giant teddy bear.”
Right. There’s a higher chance of Hollywood releasing a decent remake.
“It wouldn’t matter. She’s only doing this to get her ex back. I’m just the practice run.”
“I don’t buy it.” Reese frowns. “No way she doesn’t like you a little bit.”
It sure felt like it when we kissed. But going down that road is bound for disaster. I’m already cruising down shit highway without a map. Hoping for more would be like cutting my own damn brakes as well.
There’s only so much self-destruction I can take.
Reese casts a critical eye over the bare spaces of my apartment. “Seriously, Charlie, it’s been two years. I don’t care how you do it, but if you don’t at least get a fake plant in here by my birthday, I’m buying you every Funko pop in existence.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Even bicycle girl,” she threatens.
Over my cold, dead body. Reese and her odd fascination with zombie movies. Ghosts, she doesn’t fuck with, but apparently cannibalistic dead people are A-okay.
“You’re a monster,” I joke, though as I watch Ziggy sniff around the vast nothingness, I can admit that she’s not exactly wrong.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Should I even ask why you’re doing this to yourself?”
“What’s the problem if we both get what we want?” I rummage around the kitchen for dog food so I don’t have to look at the judgment on Reese’s face. “Get in, get out, and no one gets hurt. I’m a man of limited skill, but this is one of them. I know what I’m getting myself into.”
“Do you?” she asks, her tone too knowing for my liking. “Because all I’m hearing is that you’re sleeping with someone who has told you on multiple occasions that she hates your guts.”
As if I need the reminder.
It’s better this way. Less chance of getting my hopes up. I’m a means to an end for Emma, even if I think her problem isn’t a problem at all. Even though I’m sure this asshat she wants to get back with needs his head examined for making her feel that way.
“Charlie.”
“What?”
There’s a sigh behind me.
I don’t need the lecture. I’m walking into this with my eyes wide open.
Hell, I’m sure Emma already has a plan drafted. With a hundred points and a performance review at the end of every session.
When I can’t avoid Reese’s judgment any longer, I turn. “It’ll be fine. It’s just sex.”
“You know what? I don’t think it is. I’ve seen you with your one-night stands. And the way you talk about her is different. You actually like her.”
I rear back, my pulse jumping. “Whoa, don’t go putting words in my mouth. She’s hot, all right? So it’s not exactly a hardship to be the one helping her out. But that’s it.”
With her lips pressed together and her arms still crossed, she stares me down. It’s no use fighting it. Reese will wait me out all night if she has to.
“Fine. Maybe I like her a little.”
Reese rolls her eyes, but I barrel right through it.
“But I’m a big boy. I know there’s no chance of anything happening.”
Her eyes shine with a hint of sympathy I don’t like. “This has disaster written all over it. I want that noted for the record.”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first seven thousand times.”
With a hum, she pulls out her phone and types furiously. I don’t have to ask to know she’s talking to Mae. “This goes down as the most ridiculous game of Duck, Duck, Gray Duck, you’ve played yet.”
It’s fascinating to watch her type while holding eye contact.
“Can you even see what you’re writing?”
Reese smiles, her thumbs still moving. “I don’t need to see it. It’s called muscle memory.”
“It’s called a worrying addiction to social media.”
She manages to flip me off without stopping. A heartbeat later, she’s got Mae on speakerphone.
“She’s right,” Mae says. “If you really like her, you should be up-front about your feelings.”
“I don’t have feelings,” I say, offended.
Reese snorts. I definitely walked into that one.
“Anyway,” I say, barreling on, “you’re her girlfriend. You’re legally obligated to agree with her.”
“Yes, it’s the first law of lesbians,” Mae says, so dryly I could age a steak with it. Reese couldn’t have chosen someone whose personality was less like hers, but they’re the most solid couple I’ve ever known. There’s a U-Haul joke in there somewhere I’m not qualified to make.
With the wave of a hand, I get back to feeding Ziggy. Fuck, it’s time to change the subject.
They coo at each other a bit before Reese finally hangs up.
“Beer?” I offer.
She throws herself across my couch. “You need to ask?”
I grab two and fill Ziggy’s water bowl. “Are you sleeping any better?”
She shrugs instead of answering. I get it. It’s a good night if I get a solid six hours. I don’t press her.
As soon as I’ve sat down, a cold, wet nose is bumping my knee, and two big puppy dog eyes beg me for couch time. Ziggy’s drool will be impossible to get out of the sofa, but I pat the seat anyway. Fuck it. I’ll buy a new one.
He settles with his head on my knee, so I’m helpless to pull the remote away from Reese when she finds it and starts another terrible Exorcist sequel.
“Promise me,” Reese says later, pausing at my front door. “If this turns into more than casual sex, don’t run from it. I know how terrible you think it is, dragging someone into our mess. I did too. Our childhood was chaos, and you can’t hurt anyone from the other side of the glass. But you deserve to find something real.”
For me, dreams have never been happy. When I fall asleep, I’m getting turned down, dumped, fired, or worse. I’ve watched Reese fall down a flight of stairs so many times I still have to stand in front of her on an escalator.
Where other people get their wildest wishes granted, I’m waiting in lines or trying to jump high enough to get off the ground.
The fact is, my subconscious knows the truth.
Good things don’t happen to me.