Page 56 of Mistletoe Misses
“Don’t give me that.” She smacks my arm with the back of her hand. “You know who.”
“Who else, right?”
Her forefinger taps the end of her nose. What does that even mean?
“It’s been a crazy few days,” I answer, hoping it’s the correct one.
She glares at me, her long lashes holding steady above dark eyes. Guess I failed. “And …” she urges.
“And what?”
“You tell me. You can’t say something like that and let it dangle.”
“Let’s just say we’ve passed a few hurdles and hit our stride, but we’re far from the finish line.”
There she goes, staring at me again. “That’s it?”
“I love you, Ken, but this is not the place for that conversation.”
Her eyes graze the room and mine follow. Within listening range, dozens of people are standing nearby. She knows as well as I do how the gossip train works in this town.
“You’re right, but you’re going to fill me—”
“There you are.” Jamie steps over the coffee table in one long stride and sits on it to face us.
“You still come?” I say in awe, reaching a hand out to shake his. Before the Sunday family gathering turned into a block party, Mom would let us kids invite a friend to give us someone to play with. Jamie’s been my best friend since kindergarten, which meant he was always here, growing up alongside me and my siblings. He’s more like a brother than a friend to us all.
“Every week.”
“Except the week I come home,” I complain, but he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about my feelings.
“Sorry. You crawling out of hiding doesn’t trump an injured thoroughbred, but Ken Doll’s homecoming does.” He turns to my sister, and I brace for the rousing to begin. Rarely do these two take a break, and their comeback battles are always epic. “Glad to have you back. There’s no one to pick on at the farm. The cows have a terrible sense of humor.”
“What about that stupid goat of yours? He seems to have your intellectual prowess.”
“He’s too busy living the good life with his harem.”
“Like I said …”
“You must be thinking about all the boys you’re stringing along at that fancy school of yours.” He tosses back the beer he brought, obviously proud of himself. But I know my sister, andshe’s not the least bit embarrassed by whatever he’s poking fun at.
Slowly, she crosses her legs and leans forward, threading her fingers around a jean-covered knee. “Jokes on you, Jameson. I don’t date boys. I much prefer men who know what they want and have the balls to go after it.”
Jamie’s jaw gapes open in retort, but nothing comes out. Instead, he stares at her with a dumb expression on his face. Tired of waiting for his equally dumb response, she rises off the couch and struts out of the room.
“What just happened?” I ask. Rarely is Jamie muted by anyone, especially women. He always has something to say to them.
He shakes out of his stupor to drain the rest of his beer. “What do you mean?”
“That weird exchange between you two. Have you—”
“What? She’s your little sister.”
“Exactly, and seven years younger than you withteenin her age.”
“Which is precisely why what you’re implying isn’t a concern.”
He’s saying the right things, but the words come out a little too shaky to be convincing. Kendall is stunning and doesn’t look or act like a typical teenager. The poster child for confident, powerhouse females, she’s too fearless for her own good.
