Page 16 of Hot Mess
“Hmm,” she said, just barely, and turned away. She tucked the earrings she was borrowing into her purse. “I’ll bring these back unharmed. And thank you in advance. These are gonna knock the whole thing out of the park.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Expect requests for these.”
“I will.”
As annoying as it sometimes was when my sister looted my jewelry for her shoots at the last minute, she did always find me new clients. I’d been making jewelry for myself for years, but it was Dani who’d convinced me to sell some of my pieces, too. And I wouldn’t have sold a tenth of what I had if it weren’t for her.
A saleswoman I was not.
She picked up her purse and the travel mug I’d fixed for her. “And thanks for all this.” She took another bite of her bagel as she headed for the door. “Have a good one, okay? And don’t take any shit from your ex-douche.”
“Uh-huh. Have a good shoot. Hey… Dani?”
As my sister opened the door, she glanced back at me. Her eyes met mine again—and a nasty wave of guilt swept through me.
Tell her.
I knew I had to. It was pretty much a now-or-never situation. It wasn’t like there would be a better time to bring it up. If I didn’t tell her now… it would just get weird.
Wrongweird.
So why was I afraid to bring it up?
Because you’re afraid that if you mention him to her, he’ll never be yours.
God, that was pathetic.
So I forced the words out of my mouth.
“I saw Ashley Player last night.”
Daniella just stood there, propping the door open with her foot. She stared at me for a moment, kind of blankly. I wasn’t sure what she was thinking, but I knew she hadn’t forgotten who Ashley Player was.
“I mean, I ran into him,” I clarified.
“Oh. That’s weird.”
“Not really. He saw me on the street and thought I was you.”
“Really,” she said, but not like it was a question.
Maybe some twins could read each other’s minds. Maybe sometimes I felt like I could read hers.
This was not one of those times.
When it came to men, I rarely knew what my sister was thinking. Because when it came to men, Daniella Vola never played her hand. Anymore. For the last decade, even I couldn’t get her to admit her interest in a guy—even after she’d slept with him. She could’ve been head-over-heels in love with a dude and I wouldn’t have known it. Not unless she expressly told me.
“You talked to him?” she said.
“Not really. He said something incoherent about the roses I was buying, then I took off.”
Dani took a bite of her bagel and chewed, her eyes narrowing as she studied me. “You want him.” That wasn’t a question, either.
“No,” I said quickly.
Too quickly.
