Page 93 of Revenge Puck

“Is a woman coming over?”

“Bailey and I haven’t been broken up long.”

She gasps, calling me on my bullshit without calling me out on my bullshit. “Oh my god, youareseeing someone new.”

“Bailey and I were over long before we were over.”

“I’m not judging you—I think it’s great that you’re not going to…you know. Wallow in it.”

My sister is probably doing cartwheels in her kitchen at this news.

“Name a single time you’ve ever seen me wallow,” I challenge her, and my sister goes silent a few moments.

“That time your senior year of college when Mckenzie Sinclair dumped you the week before prom so she could go with Stan Cooper.”

I snort. “I couldn’t have given a shit about Mckenzie Sinclair.”Or the dance. Or Stan Cooper.

I grab a towel to wipe my hands.

“You liar! I heard you complaining about it to Mom.” Sutton lowers her voice so it sounds deeper. “‘I don’t understand why she said yes when I asked, if she wanted to go with him the entire time.’”

Ihadsaid that.

“You were eavesdropping!” I accuse her.

“I was gathering intel.”

“You were sixteen. Should I bring up the time you were crying because Davis Connelly asked you to be on Homecoming court with him, but his date was Stacia Metzger?”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.

“Ilikedhim, you asshole.”

“You liked hisJeep.”

“So? It was a nice Jeep.”

We’re both laughing now, and I smile as I remove the cast-iron cover for the sauce. It bubbles nicely, simmering and getting thicker the longer I let it sit.

I shake my head. “For the record, Davis Connelly was a fucking tool, and you could do better.”

“Aww, you do love me.”

“I have no choice.”

“Rude! I’m telling Mom you said that.” Sutton giggles, and I hear a cabinet slam in the background, followed by what sounds like one of her kids asking for a snack. “Is this girl anything like Bailey, or is she normal?”

“Dang, Sutton.” I wince at her comment. “Shots fired.”

“I’m asking a legitimate question.”

I lean against the sink, gazing out through the windows at the city.

“Well?” she presses. “What’s she like?”

I don’t answer right away. “Not like Bailey.”

“Low bar.” She sniffles.