Chapter 2
My mother’s parties are legendary. I think it’s where Adam gets his knack for all things entertainment.
He’s been steeped in it since he was in utero.
Portia and Julie are old enough to remember life before our father made partner.
I am, too, a wee bit, but not Adam. His life has been one long string of lavish parties.
Even his grad school and work have thus far been a blast. His word.
Not mine. That level of passion for the day job must be nice, and ordinarily I’d feel downright crabby over it, but my dad is pulling Eaton on a dinosaur floaty through the pool while the DJ plays “Baby Shark,” and my tummy is full of the most insane street tacos I’ve ever tasted. I can’t help but smile.
“Can I hire these guys to drive to Boston?” Portia asks as she adds more of the mango salsa to her shrimp tacos.
“Maybe we pay them to park outside the house for the rest of the week?” Drew says before heading toward the food trucks for more.
“It’s brilliant,” Julie says. “Who convinced Mom to hire them over her usual suspects?”
“It was Adam’s idea,” I say. “He says they’re legends in Pacific Beach. He won’t stop talking about the food scene down there.” Although today he won’t stop talking, period. Won’t stop smiling either. You’d think it was his birthday.
Portia stretches her legs out on the chaise. “Impressive that he can afford to hire so many friends.”
“I’m happy for him,” Julie says. A wistful smile graces her face as she waves to her son and our dad in the pool. “Anyone who works as hard as he does deserves some success. Mom said he was at Comic-Con all last weekend, and now he’s TAing this semester on top of classes and running a business.”
“Can’t believe you haven’t even been to his escape room.” I pick at the frayed hem of my denim shorts, twisting the soft white threads around my finger.
“Because new mommies have lots of free time and want to spend that free time locked in dark rooms trying to escape?”
I thumb through an Etsy listing of rare and exotic cacti. “When do you stop being a new mommy and become just a mommy?” My guess is never, if it means more doting attention from the family.
Julie sticks her tongue out at me.
“So who all is here from the escape room?” Portia asks.
I point out the tall brunette in line at the taco truck. “That’s Stacey, Adam’s Fem Fantastic.”
“Gorgeous.”
“The dudes in the pool are his Nightbat and Magnificent Man. Fair Play is holding Eaton’s girlfriend in the flamingo floaty.”
“One of his many girlfriends,” Julie says around a bite of her taco. “Little Man is a heartbreaker.”
“How could he not be with those dimples?” Portia licks her fingers.
I point to an older couple with margaritas by the bar. “That’s Jerry and I think his wife. He’s Adam’s Mallard.”
Portia dons her sunglasses. “Every good show needs a character actor.”
“And a villain,” Julie says. “Doesn’t Adam have a Badpun?”
If I start blushing, my sisters will never let me live it down. “Yeah.” I guzzle my ginger ale.
“Which one is Badpun?” Portia demands. “I can never keep them straight.”
“He’s Nightbat’s archnemesis,” Julie says. “A very sinister yet strangely sexy mobster clown.”
Portia gives her a look.
Julie shrugs. “I’m a boy mom. I know these things now.”
“So Adam’s Badpun is going to be the sexiest eye candy here?” Portia lowers her sunglasses.
“The most strangely sexy,” I correct. It’d be suspicious if I said nothing.
“Where is he?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug, even though I know for a fact that Badpun is not here. I know because I’ve been looking. Still, I crane my neck and make a show of scanning the party. “I don’t see him.”
“Adam.” Portia flags down our brother. “We want to meet your villains!”
“Come to my escape room tonight, and you can meet them all.” He grabs Portia’s drink and sniffs it before making a face. “On second thought, maybe you should lie low tonight. Remind me never to let Drew fix me a drink.”
“First, I’m not drunk. Second, it’s not my fault you’re a lightweight. Besides, I’m celebrating.”
“Oh really?” His phone buzzes, and my brother excuses himself.
“Hey, no phones at the table!” Portia yells.
Adam waves her off before answering the call in his I’m-all-grown-up voice. “Adam West McKinney.” And then his face splits into the dopiest grin I’ve ever seen. “Catstrike?”
Adam doesn’t have a Catstrike cosplayer—his standards are impossible when it comes to this character. Trust the sister who took him to every Catstrike movie growing up under the pretense that I wanted to see it when, in fact, Adam begged me to take him. He’s obsessed.
“Adam!” Portia yells. “Go get him. Bring him back.”
Julie rises.
“Not you,” Portia says, yanking Julie back down. “Bea. Go. Bring him back. I need to tell all of you I just made partner.”
Julie shrieks before Portia shushes her and waves me on.
I follow Adam into the house.
“May I call you Sabine?” I hear him say. I weave in and out of my parents’ guests and follow Adam up the stairs, tiptoeing past the nursery and lactation suite.
Adam wanders into my parents’ study, and I’m pressed to the wall, trying to eavesdrop, when I notice the door to my room is ajar—and a man I’d recognize anywhere is sitting on my bed, reading my copy of Anna Karenina.
I push my bedroom door wide open. “Mike Benedick.”
Mike snaps the book closed. Color flushes his cheeks.
He’s in my room on my bed, and I could just as easily turn red because this has been one of my fantasies for months now.
But I’m going to keep that detail to myself, even if my knees feel genuinely weak.
I brace my hand against my doorjamb. It’s a power stance, but also the support I need until my knees start behaving.
“Bea McKinney.” He says my name like I’m a ghost, some unbelievable apparition who has the power to haunt him for the rest of his days, and I almost wobble.
“What are you doing?” For a heartbeat, I think I read panic in his honey eyes. I’m bracing for a stammered apology, followed by a hasty retreat.
Instead, Mike’s full lips press into a smirk. “I got lost.” He crooks a hand behind his head and leans back against my pillows. His bicep bulges as he does so, and my knees will give out if I keep staring. “It’s such a big house.”
“And you ended up on my bed? Reading my book?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to end up in your bed reading your book.” He tosses Anna K. back on my nightstand.
“Get off.” I fold my arms across my chest, proud that I can stand without support once more.
“But it’s so comfortable. Smells nice too.” He sits up, leaning on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Like ginger and oranges.”
Those intense honey eyes are fixed on me. “The party is downstairs. It’s rude to wander around a house uninvited.”
“I was invited. ‘Make yourself at home.’ I have. It’s a good exercise.”
“So is taking the stairs two at a time and then doing some laps in the pool. Out.”
“You learn a lot about a family when you make yourself at home.” He rises and tugs the wrinkles out of his Hawaiian shirt.
He’s tall. Taller than me, but that’s not unusual, as I’m only five foot four.
Well, five seven today. I’m wearing my platform flip-flops because being the shortest in the family after my mom is not a fun conversation starter.
Mike prowls toward me, and my mind flashes to the best thirty seconds of my life—my face in his hands, his lips hovering dangerously over mine, and the sun setting over the Pacific.
“Oh really?” My tone is bored. At least I hope it is. It’s hard to tell when my insides are turning into gel.
“A Del Mar heiress goes to law school to prove she has a brain to rival her old-money charm. Meets a promising, handsome, young, third-year student, falls in love, drops out of law school when she realizes she’s pregnant…
” He nudges a small potted cactus on my bookshelf.
“Thus, only one diploma hangs in the family study. Baby number two comes heavy on the heels of baby number one. Two girls. The first is the prodigy, the second is the do-no-wrong sweetheart. Mama heiress uses her connections to make sure her darling husband is hired by the right firm and works his way up the ranks from associate to partner in no time. She catches her breath in time to pop out a third child, also a girl, and then at last a son. How am I doing so far?”
If we were in court, I could have objected a half-dozen times over. I could pull apart his evidence, pinpoint the calls for speculation, but we aren’t in court. We’re in my bedroom, and Mike is telling me a story that is true, even if it is oversimplified.
And I am mesmerized.
“Your dad may be successful, but it’s your mom’s trust fund that has made all this possible.
” He gestures to the view of the pool outside my window.
“But trust funds hardly instill the values of hard work and self-reliance in the rising generation. So I’m guessing that piece of family history was often glossed over. ”
I catch myself before I yell, Objection! in my courtroom voice.
“Something wrong?” Mike’s smirk has resurfaced.
Only if we were in a court of law. “Are you finished?”
“This story, while being a charming fairy tale of riches to more riches, isn’t the interesting bit.”
“There’s an interesting bit?”
“It’s the characters.” He presses a tentative finger to the spines of my pink moon cactus.
“The firstborn, the eldest sister. I mentioned she’s the prodigy, trophy child determined to prove her own worth and merit as far away from your mama’s influence as possible.
I’m guessing she’s putting off a family of her own until she’s attained some arbitrary status of self-worth. ”
I frown. “Like partner?”
“Exactly! Second eldest.”
“Juliet,” I offer.
“Juliet is the princess. Family sweetheart. The beauty who can do no wrong. Cemented this role by being the first to settle down and start a family of her own.”
“And Adam?” I’m baiting him. I have to be.
“The prodigal son. That leaves you. The interesting one.”
Heat rises to my cheeks.
A corner of Mike’s mouth twitches into a smile. “No dogs, right?”
“What?”
“Or cats? I didn’t see signs of either, but the accoutrement could have been stowed for the shindig.”
“My mom’s allergic.”
Mike smirks as he rotates my spiral cactus. “The third daughter. Loyal, obedient. You’re the family pet.” He sighs and pulls a frown. “Bit dull, but it fits.”
“You don’t know me!”
Mike laughs, a self-satisfied chuckle that grates against my ears and makes my skin prickle. “Oh, but I do.”
I’ve seen Mike only once before out of his Badpun cosplay, and the man I met was confident, yes, but also charming and charismatic. He was most definitely not an arrogant, rude jerkface. So why is Mike acting like an arrogant, rude jerkface now?
He brings a hand to the wall and leans against it, studying me.
I arch an eyebrow and definitely do not admire the veins that twist around the corded muscles of his forearms. I lift my chin and stare him down. “I’m no one’s pet.”
His teeth flash. “I stand corrected. You’re too sharp. Too…prickly.”
“Prickly? Where do you get off—”
“Everyone plays a part in a family. It’s hard when the good roles are already taken.
” He touches the spines of a few of my books with a knuckle.
“That makes you very interesting, Bea McKinney.” He glances at me and sucks his teeth.
“If you’re not the pet human, I’d say”—his lips curl into a smile—“you’re the family cactus.
Sharp. Pretty enough in your own pointy way.
And completely stuck. Did you live with your parents all through law school? ”
“Out!” I push him out of my room.
But Mike braces himself against the door, and I’ve felt enough of his lean muscle to know he’s not budging. “That night when I almost kissed you was about as much fun as you’ve had in…ever. Am I right?”
He brought it up—and in the hallway for any lactating mama to hear. The scoundrel. My cheeks flush hotter. “No. Not right. But it’s cute you think so.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“Someone has a very high opinion of himself. For the sake of your fragile little actor’s ego, I wish I could tell you that I can’t sleep at night for thoughts of what could have been, but I haven’t thought of you since…
No, I’ve never thought of you.” Lies. I’ve cast him as the resident hot guy in every one of Tolstoy’s books.
“I bet when you close your eyes, you picture me.”
I laugh, but it comes out a snort. “Yeah, I imagine a life with an arrogant boor who lives out of his van and dresses up as a psycho clown.” Seriously, when did Mike turn into such a jerk? This is not the man I remember almost kissing on the pier.
He smirks. “This is your childhood bedroom?” He nods with his chin. “Do Mommy and Daddy make you waffles on Saturday morning?”
“No!” I make them waffles, and then we go golfing.
“At least with a van, you have a shot at independence. A chance to be more than a sad, prickly little—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—cactus.”
“Oh, hey guys!” Adam says, stepping out of the study. “I just got a text from Mom. They’re about to sing to the birthday boys.” Adam grabs Mike’s shoulder. “Glad you could make it, man.”
“Bea was just showing me around.”
“You mean showing you out?” I mutter.
But Adam doesn’t hear. “Did she show you her cactus collection? Crazy, right?”
Seriously? I could smack Adam on the back of the head.
“In a cool way!” Adam says before heading downstairs. “Come on. Cake and ice cream awaits.”
“You want me to carry you down the stairs?” Mike whispers. “Your shoes are ridiculous, and I wouldn’t want you breaking an ankle or any of your very sharp spines.”
“You asking to get pricked?”
“Maybe. Why? Do I need Mommy and Daddy’s permission first?”
“Keep talking, and I will slap you in the face with one of my cacti.”
“Can you even reach them if I move them all to the top shelf?”
“Back off,” I snap. Mike wasn’t like this the day I met him. Yes, he was a presuming, psycho clown in the escape room, but that was just him being in character. Wasn’t it?