The night she told me she’d fallen in love with another man.
For four years, I was devoted to her.
Four years flushed down the drain in a single night, along with a ring I never gave her.
“You really don’t ever want to get involved again?” Tempest asks.
As the doors shut and I press the button for the lobby, I shoot her a warning look. She knows the answer. She’s asked me the question often enough.
“I don’t,” I say quietly. “It’s not worth it. I don’t want to go through that ever again.”
Tempest squeezes my shoulder. “I get that it doesn’t feel worth it. She really did a number on you.”
I shrug it off. “Nah. I’m all good. And you know what else is good and fun?” I wiggle my brows. “Trash talk.”
Rolling her eyes, she sighs in loud exasperation. “Boys. Can you please explain why trash talk is so singularly motivating to your gender?”
I shrug. “We have penises.”
We reach the lobby and step out of the elevator as she mutters, “Gross.”
“Aww, do penises gross you out, Temp?”
She gives me a droll look. “Yours does.”
I gesture to the lobby as if to indicate the entire building. “Why is it you come here between shows again?”
“Your place is closer to the theater district. Also, now that I’ve seen Adrian’s picture, I’m worried you’re not hot enough to win tonight. Do you want me to grab a mask for you at the party supply store? Maybe a clown or an ex-president?”
I’m relieved she’s moved on from the subject of Edie and returned to our brother-sister banter.
I arch a brow. “You do know where I learned to smack-talk?”
“From the best of them.” With a twinkle in her eye, she points her thumb at herself. “Me.”
“Exactly. Mouth of vitriol. And speaking of your acid tongue, you can take all those remarks back about Martinez. You’re not allowed to think he’s hot,” I hiss as we pass the doorman. I take a second to nod hello though. “Hey, Oscar. How’s it going? How did Melissa do in her lacrosse tournament?”
“Came in first place, sir. Thanks for asking.”
“Awesome news.” I smile and wave as we head onto Park Avenue.
When we hit the street, Tempest jumps back into it. “I take it back. Martinez isn’t hot.”
I grin, nice and satisfied. “Exactly.”
She smirks at me, satisfied as a cat, then she whispers, “He’s smoking hot.”
I groan. “You have no taste.”
“I have amazing taste. Maybe I should go to the auction tonight?”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“I wouldn’t dare bid on him?” She cocks a brow.
“You wouldn’t dare miss Hamilton.”
“Oh, I might miss Hamilton to bid on a guy that smoking hot, and there’s nothing you could do to stop me.”
She’s right. There is nada I could do to stop her. Because that’s not how I roll. She’s free to do what she wants, date who she wants, and see who she wants.
Obviously.
Still, the ribbing I would endure in that scenario would be immeasurable.
“Just promise me if you go out with him that—”
“I say nice things about you?”
I roll my eyes. “Sisters. Pretend I never said a word.”
“That’s generally my MO.” She blows me a kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Temp.”
“Also, I would never skip a show to bid on a guy, so you don’t have to worry,” she adds.
I breathe a genuine sigh of relief. “Good to know.”
As I grab my phone to call a Lyft, she raises her hands and signs rapidly in ASL, “But say hi to Adrian tonight from me.”
I growl, sneering at her as I stuff my phone into my pocket with one hand and sign with the other. “Never.”
“I’ll meet him on my own, then.” Words fly from her hands. “I’d totally do him.”
I sign again. “You are the pig now.”
She laughs, tossing her head back, speaking this time. “Good luck, Ransom. I need to get to the theater.”
“Spoiler. Hamilton dies. Burr kills him.”
She lifts her hands and signs once more. “Oh my God, I had no idea, dickhead.”
I grab her and wrap her in a hug. “See you tomorrow. Luna’s house? I won’t tell her you’ve been swearing and casting aspersions in ASL.”
Tempest laughs. “She’s the one who taught us those words.”
We say goodbye as my Lyft arrives, and I head to Teagan’s place in the East Eighties, bounding up the steps to her brownstone, one of those gorgeous homes with red brick and polished white shutters. It’s like a set from a movie, the house where the well-heeled New Yorker lives.
Which is fitting, since I know she comes from money. Old money.
I call to let her know I’m here. I half want to head upstairs to gawk at whatever her pad looks like, but once the door opens, all thoughts free-fall from my brain and land on the sidewalk.
5
Ransom
Holy purple dress.
Holy black heels.
Holy red hair swept up in a French twist thingy.
