Arrogant Boss

“I’ll reply,” she said. “But please take an aspirin before you do any pondering.”

“No promises.”

“Emily.””Thank you for taking the cab with me home yesterday,” I said, remembering.

“Of course. I’m not about to send you off with a guy I just met, regardless of how hot he makes you.”

I groaned. “Was it that obvious?”

“Emily, you two made out in the middle of the dance floor.”

“Okaythankstalktoyoulaterbye.” I hung up and stared at my ceiling for a solid five minutes. If I wanted to be seen as a grown woman, one capable of handling a little office fling with no drama and no consequences, I had effectively blown that image to smithereens.

With my self-respect in tatters, I pulled the sheet up to cover me completely. Hiding from reality to cope with reality, so to speak. Last night had been… there were no words. I decided to do what I’d told Denise I would, and went through the entire evening, step by painful step. Where had it gone wrong?

Julian had shown up.

We’d spoken, and I’d made the decision to go for it. Fortune favors the bold and all that. We’d done tequila shots, and he’d licked the salt from the back of my hand. He’d told me I looked stunning-I could still feel the exhale of his breath on my ear as he whispered it to me. I shivered at the memory.

We’d danced for a bit, ridiculous movements to make the other laugh. Denise and Michael had joined in occasionally, and we’d had another round of shots. This time I’d demanded to lick the salt off of his hand.

We’d laughed and danced some more. He was a good dancer, and I’d made sure that we moved closer. Close enough that… we’d apparently made out. Vague recollections of hot lips against mine came back and I touched my mouth. It seemed impossible.

But no.

I’d challenged him to a racing duel.

I’d said that he smelled good enough to eat.

I’d told him that he was the best kisser of my life… ugh. That was a memory I couldn’t touch, not even with a ten-foot-pole.

A flashback hit me with vivid force. He’d had his arms around my waist, and I’d said that he could come with me home. Or, for honesty’s sake, I’d demanded it.

Julian had laughed and bent to kiss my lips again.

“Not tonight, Ace. Not like this. But don’t you dare think it’s because I don’t want to.”

Well, he clearly had more honor and self-discipline than I did. There was no way I could show my face around him again. If he hadn’t minded the eight-year age difference before, he most certainly would now. I’d acted like a teenager. “That was the best kiss of my life.”

Bleh!

There was a rhythmic knock on my door.

“Emily? It’s nearly noon. I made breakfast and left some eggs on low heat for you. But you’re going to have to come and eat it soon or I’ll turn the heat off.”

I groaned again, this time with guilt. Turner. What a great role model for my nineteen-year-old brother, coming home drunk in the middle of the night. That hadn’t happened since… ever?

Despite the pounding headache, I swung out of bed and pulled on my robe. “Sorry, Turner. I didn’t mean to sleep so long. I’ll be downstairs in a bit.”

“Good.”

I hopped in the shower and prayed that the warm water would wash away the shame. It didn’t, but my caramel-scented shampoo and conditioner brightened my mood. Bought at a hair salon, the (ridiculously) overpriced set had been a spur of the moment splurge, but not a shower had gone by where it had failed to make me smile. As Denise would say: targeted self-care-get the expensive shampoo and you can survive a shitty car.

I trudged down the stairs fifteen minutes later. My hair was wet and my head still ached, but I felt roughly 1500% better. It’s scientifically proven that showers have that effect. For real.

Turner sat by the kitchen island with a familiar book and didn’t even look up when I entered.

“Are you re-reading that biography again?”All content © N/.ôvel/Dr/ama.Org.

He nodded and shut it gently. “I’m sure there were things I missed the first time.”

The smell of bacon and eggs wafted from the stove. He’d put aluminum foil over the pan to keep it warm. My heart swelled.

“You’re the best little brother in the world, you know that?”

He snorted. “You’re exaggerating.”

I grabbed a plate and started scooping up food, pausing to shove a piece of bread into the toaster. “Perhaps. What I mean is: I’m very happy and grateful that you’re my brother.”

“Oh.” A faint blush crept up on his pale cheeks. “I’m happy that you’re my sister too.”

“Despite the fact that I come home at unseemly hours?”

I took a seat opposite him at the island. I might be playing it for jokes, but I was worried. I had tried to be a role model for so long, but now we were both adults with full-time jobs. The landscape had changed and I didn’t know how to adapt.

“You said you were going out with Denise and that it might run late. I wasn’t worried.”

“Good.” I headed to the fridge to hunt down some orange juice. “What are your plans for today?”

“I’ve finished going through all the VHS and DVDs. Could you look over and see if you agree with my sorting? If you do, I’ll drive them over to Goodwill this afternoon.”

“Of course, yeah. Thanks for doing all that.”

He shrugged. “It needs to be done. I was thinking that we could start on the rooms upstairs next.”

Unease churned in my stomach, but I pushed away the fear. He was right. I’d kept the house mostly as it was when we’d lived here as a family, but we were both grown now. One of us would move out soon, and judging by the circled apartments I’d seen in the newspaper I figured it might be Turner.

We couldn’t live in the past.

“That’s a great idea. I’ll help you. Maybe we can start on Mom’s hobby room upstairs later.”

“Sounds good.”

He opened his book again and we fell back in companionable silence. I studied him as I ate. His jaw had grown sharper, and his shoulders slightly wider. When had I missed that? When had he grown up?

I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my sweatpants. I dreaded who it might be and took another big sip of OJ.

“Your phone is buzzing,” Turner pointed out.