Page 47 of Que Será, Syrah

“Hopefully not too much longer,” I say. “I thought things had gotten better?” I know Bianca talked to Geno. If it really was him behind all the sabotage, surely, he’s backed off by now.

“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

“You don’t care?” I repeat in surprise. “Since when? I mean, who even are you?”

“At this point? I have no idea,” Clay murmurs. His eyes are hooded. His gaze is locked on my mouth as he gently frames my face with his free hand, and drags his thumb, back and forth, across my bottom lip. “But as long as you’re all right with keeping things on the DL until we can be together without ruining both our lives and outraging everyone we know, then I’m all in. Screw the consequences. You’re not the only one who can make bad decisions.”

I let my tongue flick out to tease his thumb. “Well, just for the record, you’re definitely the best bad decision I’ve ever made.”

“Same,” Clay says as he presses a too-chaste kiss to my lips, distracting me just long enough to pluck the mug from my unresisting hands.

“Hey, wait,” I protest, as he gets to his feet and swiftly makes room for both mugs on the night table. “I wasn’t finished with that.”

“I’ll make you a fresh cup,” he promises, stripping out of his briefs. His eyes are gleaming with heat and intent. “Later.”

“How much later?” I tease, falling back onto the pillows, welcoming him into my arms as he slips between the sheets and covers my body with his own. “Because I thought we were going to have breakfast? Didn’t you say something about eggs and toast?”

“I did. But breakfast is just gonna have to wait. It’s important to follow the proper procedures, you know, when dealing with emergency situations. There’s a whole hierarchy of priorities to take into account, protocols and standards that need to be rigorously adhered to.”

“This all sounds very official, officer, but aren’t you supposed to state the nature of your emergency?”

“Nope. You already did that.”

“I…what?”

“You’re the one who brought up the topic of itches that might need scratched. Aren’t you still feeling itchy?”

“Oh, I am,” I murmur between kisses. “Very much so. But what about you?”

“Like I just broke out in a full-body rash.”

Chapter 11

Allegra

It’s late afternoon when I finally return home. I follow the murmur of voices to the living room, expecting to see Rosa and Jake. Instead, I find Bianca and Jansen cuddled together on the couch, looking very cute and coupley. Jansen’s dog quickly uncurls himself from beside them, and comes prancing up to greet me.

“Oops. Sorry,” I say, coming to an abrupt halt just inside the room. “I didn’t know you all were in here.”

“Oh, hey. You’re back!” Bianca turns to smile at me. “We’re watching movies. Come join us.” Then her eyes widen. Her gaze flickers over me and she asks. “Is that…my jacket you’re wearing?”

Uh-oh. I tug the collar closer to my neck, to hide the hickeys I’m not ready to explain. “It, uh… I dunno. M-maybe?” I stammer a little, feeling sheepish and defensive. “It was cold last night, and this was in the closet.”

“Legs…”

“But hey, at least I didn’t lose it, right? Or spill anything on it?” I crouch down to pet the dog, wishing I’d had the sense to ditch the jacket as soon as I came in. But then again, I needed something to hide the marks on my neck. “I’m going clothes shopping this week, so it won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine,” my sister replies quickly—although it sure doesn’t seem like that’s the case, now does it? Otherwise, why are we still talking about it? “Just, you know, maybe ask beforehand, okay?”

“I said I wasn’t going to do it again,” I reply, straightening up. “Besides, you weren’t here to ask, were you?” Of course she wasn’t. My sisters went off to play with their friends, leaving me behind. Just. Like. Always.

Bee’s mouth falls open, but before she can recover enough to point out that I’m acting like a brat—I know I am, all right? Being back here has me falling into all the old, familiar patterns, childhood habits that I can’t seem to break—I hurry into speech. “How’d the wedding go, anyway?” I ask, in hopes of changing the subject.

Before Bee can answer, Rosa emerges from the kitchen. She’s carrying two large bowls piled with popcorn—one sweet, one savory, if I had to make a guess—and is followed closely by Jake who’s toting two six-packs of beer.

“Okay, popcorn’s ready, pizzas are ordered?—”

“Beer’s cold,” Jake interjects, holding them aloft.

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