Page 54 of I Can't Even

I assumed it was my spectacular defeat in the man-catching arts that had me bummed. I debated calling Soph to see what she was doing but remembered she and Stan had some event at the country club and she would be home late. My sister was probably busy charming all of the other doctors’ wives. She was brilliant at making other people feel at ease. It was like her superpower. Except when she told Paisley to fuck off. That made me cackle.

While I plowed through my bowl of ice cream over the kitchen sink, I wondered how Soph felt about the role of doctor’s wife. She had always been the creative one of the three of us and her passion had been art, painting specifically. While I’d spent my days riding the waves, Soph had painted the waves and Em had curled up with a book under a nearby tree ignoring the waves. A feeling of nostalgia hit me and I missed the peaceful simplicity of our youth even if I now knew a large portion of it had been a lie.

I thought about my birth mother, Lisa, and what my life would have been like if she hadn’t walked away. I couldn’t imagine. And wasn’t that saying something? I had no idea what it would be like to have a mother who loved me just for me. I had been sharpened on the rough stones of Babs’s disappointment and disapproval. Who would I be without it? I had no clue. I felt a snuffle shoot down my nose. I refused to give in to it. I was so very tired of crying for what could have been. I put the bowl in the sink and rinsed it out.

The house was quiet, too quiet. Where was Em? I hadn’t seen her all day and I missed her. Come to think of it, I had no idea how she was keeping busy these days during her leave of absence from work. I hoped it was fun or at the very least distracting. Em was so serious for a woman her age, I paused to glance down at her boots. Okay, she had been serious—maybe she was overdue for this rebellion.

I opened the cupboard under the kitchen sink looking for something to clean the leather with as I could not in good conscience return the boots with Rodney’s saliva on them. Ew.

I found a tub of leather furniture wipes and figured that was good enough. I used the window seat in the kitchen to prop my leg up as I ran a couple of leather wipes from the thigh all the way down to the toes and back, repeatedly. It was easier to clean them while still wearing them. Also, I dreaded taking them off because I was afraid my feet were going to spasm.

I dumped the first set of wipes and reached for more when I got that old familiar feeling of being watched. At first, I thought Rodney had tracked me down for the boots, gross, but as if my body was in tune with his, I knew immediately that it was Liam.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the light coming from the second story of his house. I didn’t look at him and instead checked the reflection of his window in the glass vase that sat on our kitchen table. It was distorted but it was easy to see that a large male was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at me while I scrubbed down the boots.

Well, well, well! It seemed I was going to be putting on a show after all.

Chapter Seventeen

“Bow chicka wow wow,” I hummed to myself as I swiped the leather wipes over the boot. I started at the toes and slowly worked my way up to the thighs. Conscious of Liam’s gaze upon me, my heart beat triple time and as smooth as I was trying to be, my movements felt clumsy and awkward.

Okay, so stripper moves are not as intuitive as one would think. I tried to wiggle my hips but the tiny toothpick heels holding me up didn’t accommodate the shift in weight as easily as one would expect. I bobbled, I wobbled, and I hoped he was too far away to see me grab the back of a chair to keep from face planting.

No, no, no, not again. Seriously, I could not make an ass of myself again twice in one night.

With my confidence squashed, I went back to just casually cleaning the boots. I could still see his reflection in the mirror, and I figured maybe now was the time to lose the boots. I reclined on the window seat and lifted one leg. I worked the zipper down all the way to the sole and then toed off the boot. A glance at the vase showed that he was still there. His arms were no longer crossed over his chest but had dropped to his sides. I envisioned his fists clenching and unclenching. The thought of making him crazy made me all kinds of naughty girl giddy.

I slowly lifted my other leg and hummed my stripper music again. I pulled the zipper down, slowly, painfully slowly, seriously, my fingers started to cramp, until I was able to wriggle my foot out of the boot, which I dropped on the ground. His reflection was still visible, and I wondered if I should go for broke and lose my sweater or the leggings. I was just reaching for my waistband when Em blew into the kitchen.

“Oh, my god, do not tell me you are about to strip in our kitchen for that man!” my little sister cried.

Em pointed right at Liam’s window, and I shifted his direction as if I’d been unaware he’d been there. Our gazes locked and one of his eyebrows rose ever so slightly as if daring me. Without hesitation I reached for the hem of my sweater.

“Oh, hell no!” Em snapped off the light, plunging us into darkness.

“But—” I protested.

“No,” she said. “Come here.”

Emily headed out of the kitchen and into the dimly lit hallway where Liam wouldn’t be able to see us. I picked up the boots and followed.

“You are out of control,” baby sis lectured. “You need to get a grip. Where’s your self-respect?”

“I still have it, some of it anyway,” I said. “I mean I’m not over there groveling for him to come back to me. I’m just trying to stay on his radar, so he’ll realize that we belong to—hold up! Wait one mother-fluffing minute, what did you do to your hair?”

“What?” Em’s eyes were wide with innocence. “Nothing. It must be the lighting.”

“That is not lighting,” I said.

I grabbed her hand and dragged her into the living room. Under better light, I could see dark blue and teal streaks running through her hair from the crown to the tips. It looked awesome. It looked badass. Except it was on Em, and Em didn’t do awesome or badass. Em did cute and nice and sweet.

“Your hair is blue,” I said.

“Really?” she asked as if mildly surprised. “Huh.”

“What...why...ugh,” I paused and tried to get my thoughts together. “Em, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” my sister said. “Shaking things up a bit, you know, trying to get my feet back under me.”

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