Page 17 of More For Me

“I’m sorry, but he was. He barely danced all night. He just walked around looking for people who work in entertainment so he could bore them half to death with his ideas.”

I bite my lip. He definitely did that. It bothered me at the time, but I’d just thrown myself more into having fun with my sisters and cousins to care.Sisters, cousins, and Bodhi,a voice in my head reminds me.

“There’s the face again,” Presley announces.

“You’re the worst,” I mutter.

“How are things going with Trey?” Mom asks, raising her voice a little, a clear indication that she wants us to stop bickering.

I shrug. “We had lunch a few days after the wedding. I’m not sure I’m going to see him again.”

“Thank God,” Vega mutters and I tug her braid hard enough to sting.

“He was very nice. We just don’t have much in common.”

“This is why you need to stop dating Hollywood dude-bros,” Presley says.

“Or, and here’s a wild idea, you could just date the person you clearly already like,” Santana says.

I narrow my eyes at her. “And who would that be?”

She gives an epic eye roll. “Bodhi!” my three sisters cry in unison.

I laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course we’re not joking.” Vega turns around in front of me, her braid forgotten. “You guys are perfect together.”

“We’refriends.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Presley asks.

“Because my sisters are all morons and I’m embarrassed to be related to you.”

“Sure,” Vega says. “Blame it on us. It has nothing at all to do with the way Bodhi looked in that suit.”

Santana whistles. “I knew that man was fine, but that suit? Totally dangerous.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks flush even more. Bodhihadlooked amazing in that suit. I have no problem admitting it. The man has a great eye for fashion so it was no surprise he had his suit tailored so perfectly for his tall, lean body—

Jesus, I sound as bad as my sisters.

“He’s such a good dancer, too,” Santana continues. “He totally has rhythm.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “That might come in handy in other areas. If you know what I mean.”

“Santana Grace Ransome, I can do without your innuendo, thank you very much.”

Santana scoffs at our mom. “You just told us Dad gets all hot and bothered when you paint your toenails. Do you really have room to talk?”

I burst out laughing, something about that striking me as absolutely hilarious. My mom joins in and then the other girls. And that’s how Dad finds us a few minutes later, heads thrown back, clinging to each other as we laugh.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“We were just talking about pedicures,” Presley says, wiping her eyes.

“Pedicures, huh?” He gives Mom a meaningful look. “Got any red polish in there?”

Vega screams in horror, which sets most of us off laughing again—Presley chooses to pretend to vomit behind the couch instead.

“What?” he asks, bewildered. “What’s so funny?”