Hi there! If you’ve landed here, then you know that I’m getting ready to publish my next novel in my Escape to Love series. Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay is finished and currently with proofreaders. Pre-order links and the Kickstarter campaign are at the bottom. I hope you enjoy these first two chapters and prepare yourself for another sweet, sassy yarn in the world of costumes, superhero fandom, and happily-ever-afters. Expect some closed-door, frenemies-to-lovers, rom-com goodness in contemporary San Diego in addition to many Shakespeare references. This book was inspired by Much Ado About Nothing after all. XO, Amy
Chapter One
Now is the summer of my discontent made bearable only by nightly reading binges, sugar, and copious amounts of caffeine. It may not be healthy, but it’s the only way I’ve found to cope with all the reason and love that keep me little company nowadays.
Oh, jeez. I’ve definitely read too much Shakespeare this week.
If fiction is a cure for infatuation, I’m going to need to read a whole lot more. Because no matter how many words, words, words I devour, I can’t stop thinking about a pair of honey-colored eyes.
Still, I probably should not have stayed up until four a.m. reading. I definitely should not have slept in on this particular July morning, but what’s a woman to do when she’s halfway through a Tolstoy novel at midnight?
“Bea, are you up?” Mom calls from the hallway.
“No!” I answer, pulling a pillow over my head, but it’s no use. A leaf blower has started up outside.
My bedroom door swings open. “Honestly, you keep the hours of a teenager,” Mom says as she pushes open my blackout drapes, sidestepping a stack of books in her way.
I hiss in the blinding sunshine. It has everything to do with my eighty-hour workweek, the depositions that I had to wade through yesterday, and nothing to do with being a full-grown woman who still sleeps in her childhood bedroom. Twenty-six with no hope of affording a place of my own until I’m fifty-two. I crunched the numbers a few months ago and have not recovered. Southern California is expensive, and Del Mar, honestly, is the worst.
Mom picks up a crumpled pantsuit on the floor with her forefinger and thumb. “Looking at this mess, no one would ever know you’re a brilliant legal mind.”
“I’m not a brilliant legal mind.”
“No one who isn’t brilliant finishes Berkeley Law before they’re twenty-four.”
I roll onto my side. “Except someone dumb enough to go into corporate law.”
Mom’s nose wrinkles as she takes in my bookshelves. “Did you add to your collection?”
I survey my shelves with pride. Scattered among my many limited editions are thirty-four adorable cacti ranging from bunny ears to monkey tales, barrels to organ pipes. The latest acquisition is a blushing pink prickly pear. “Are you asking about my books or cacti? Because the answer is both.”
“Just move your plants to the top shelves. The last thing we want is to spend the day picking spines out of one of our little guests with tweezers. Now…” Mom pulls my duvet down and off my bed. “Hurry up and get dressed. I need your help.”
Today is my nephew’s first birthday. It is also my father’s sixtieth birthday party. That’s right—Pop-Pop, aka George McKinny, and his grandson, Eaton, are celebrating together, and my mother, Molly McKinny, has planned the party to end all parties.
I tug on a robe and head downstairs.
“Why is the gardener here on a Sunday?” I put the kettle on the stove.
Mom’s smile surfaces. “Eaton loves the smell of fresh-cut grass.”
I drop a bag of blood orange tea into a mug. “Does he also love the smell of gasoline and exhaust?” I mutter as the sound of the two-cycle engines hits me. I shove the kitchen window shut.
“I want everything to be picture perfect.” Mom frowns. “You are going to wear something else for the party, yes?”
I shove an English muffin into my mouth. “Maybe. I’m sure there are more horrific outfits I could find than my cutoff sweats.”
Mom takes the bait. “You’re so pretty and polished when you head to work every morning. I don’t understand why you dress like a slob on the weekend. Maybe, at the very least, do something with all your curls instead of piling them into a messy topknot?” Mom gasps like I do when a paralegal leaves cookies in the break room. “I could call Jacqueline at the salon. I’m sure she could work you in this morning if you wanted to get some lowlights, bring out the auburn in your hair.”
“Sure.” I shake my hair out and tug it into a low ponytail. “And while we’re at it, why don’t you put me down for microneedling, some dermal fillers, maybe a laser treatment, Botox.” Anything that will let me skip today’s festivities.
“Why? There’s nothing wrong with your face.” Mom pats my cheek. “Ah, to have your collagen.”
I groan. “I need to go back to bed.” I’m nursing a migraine from a week of too many late nights, too many pages turned, and too little sleep. I need a nap, but I can’t for one simple reason. I live here. I’m an associate at Del Mar’s premier corporate law firm and can’t afford even a condo on my own. If I’m going to have roommates, they may as well be my parents who don’t charge me rent.
“Are you going to bite my head off if I ask a favor?” Mom’s clacking around her kitchen in a pair of red-soled kitten heels, opening and closing cupboards.
I groan again. “Can I at least have breakfast first?”
“No time.” She pulls out a crystal Waterford vase from a bottom cupboard. “I forgot to ask the florist to make an arrangement for the upstairs bathroom. Fill this with dahlias and some of my roses.” Mom hands me a pair of pruners along with the vase.
I put them on the counter and drop a bag of Earl Grey into my mug to accompany the blood orange tea. I’m going to need the caffeine. “How many people are coming today?”
“Oh, just family and a few friends.” Mom’s eyes sparkle.
I’m not buying it for a minute. Through the sliding glass doors of the adjoining family room, I can see Mom’s favorite florist and his two assistants building not only a balloon arch but a Stegosaurus out of carnations, sunflowers, and roses. “A few…hundred?”
“No! Juliet invited just her dearest friends, and of course Ryan’s family is coming.” My sister, the golden child, and her husband can do no wrong since Eaton came on the scene. They could invite enough people to fill Petco Park, and Mom would accommodate.
Mom checks her phone. “Portia and Drew’s flight landed an hour ago, and Adam volunteered to get them from the airport. They’ll be here any minute. All of my yoga buddies and of course your father’s partners and their dear ones are coming.” Mom hands me a napkin.
“Oh, is that all?” I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my robe, just to bug her.
“Unless you ended up inviting some friends from work.”
What friends? I snort but don’t reply. Unlike Mom, I know when I’m being baited.
The kettle whistles, but Mom grabs it before I can. “I’ve been waiting years to be a grandma, missy.” She pours the steaming water into my mug. “Excuse me if I want to celebrate. Until you, Portia, and Adam come to your senses, Eaton is my one and only grandchild. I’m going to enjoy this day to the fullest.”
“And Dad?” I grab a sun hat from the hooks near the fridge.
“Your father would never let me have any fun if all this was just for him, but Pop-Pop is overjoyed to be celebrating his sixtieth with the little Eaton man.”
There’s a tap on the sliding glass door, and a woman dressed in a pink chef’s coat is standing outside. “Mrs. McKinny, we’re ready to set up the cakes and macaron trees, if you’ll point us where.”
“The table by the chrysanthemum T. rex, Angela. Thank you.” Mom waves the caterer to the backyard. “This was such a good idea. Your father really shouldn’t be eating cake all weekend, and this way I’ll be able to send home most of the baked goods with Julie. Eaton needs more fat rolls. He’s losing them far too quickly.”
“I think that’s supposed to happen now that he’s walking.” A couple of taco trucks pull around to the tennis court. “Mom, Portia and Drew’s wedding was smaller than this.”
Mom shudders. “Don’t remind me. Who elopes to Hawaii?”
Portia, my older sister, walks into the kitchen. “Firstborns.” She drops her Louis Vuitton duffel on the floor and a bag of oranges on the kitchen counter. “You got to let it go, Molly.”
Mom screams and quickly scurries over to give Portia a bone-crushing hug. Molly McKinny may be fun size, but she’s strong. The yoga, no doubt.
“Let me look at you. Oh, honey! You’re glowing,” Mom says.
“It’s the neon tangerine dress,” I mutter. Seriously, Portia could direct air traffic with that one.
“How was the flight? Did the ginger help Drew not vomit all over the jetway?” Before Portia can answer, Mom bear-hugs her again. “Why on earth can’t you live in California? Massachusetts is just entirely too far away.”
Drew and Adam walk in with the rest of the luggage, and Mom shrieks again, enveloping both my brother-in-law and brother in hugs and kisses.
“You made it. Did you bring your swimsuits? Was the flight okay, Drew? Traffic?”
I don’t know where Adam inherited his chill, since both our parents are textbook hyper, but he’s definitely the calming presence in the family. “We did make it,” Adam says. “I don’t know why you’re worried about suits when you have a closet full of spares. Traffic was fine. We would have been here sooner, but Portia wanted to stop at a roadside stand.”
“They don’t even have oranges in Boston?” Mom says. “Move back home, and we can plant you a tree of your very own. We’ll get one of those enormous ones in a box that are fully grown and plant it with a crane. You won’t have to wait a minute before you can eat your own oranges.”
Adam hands my mom a pink box and kisses her cheek. “Where’s Pop-Pop?”
“Out golfing. I surprised him this morning with a new set of clubs. He’ll be home any minute.”
“Anything I can do?” Adam asks.
“Yeah.” I hold up the cutglass vase. “You can fill this with flowers.” But that solicits a brief glare from Mom before she turns her attention back to my brother, the baby of the family.
Mom beams at Adam. “Would you go help with the balloon arch? I want it across the pool. And then I need help inflating some of the inner tubes and floats.
“On it.” Adam smiles. “Hey, Bea.” My little brother, younger by two years and taller than me by a good nine inches, gives me a hug.
“Watch out,” I mumble. “She’s already mentioned once this morning how she has only the one grandkid, and we’re all slackers for not settling down and making babies.”
Adam laughs before tugging my ponytail. It’s a classic move from our childhood that he picked up from Dad. Except when Dad does it, it’s sweet and never hurts. I’ll get Adam back latter by knocking his baseball cap off his head. “Thanks for the heads-up,” he says. “Ma! Where should I change?”
“Use Bea’s room, dear. The guest rooms have been spoken for.”
Don’t I get a say about my room? “Run before she gives you a tour of the nursery, lactation lounge, and new playroom.”
“Got it.” My brother grabs his swim trunks from his bag but stops on the stairs. “Oh, and, Mom!”
Mom stops and turns, hands on her hips. “What?”
“Thanks for letting me invite some of my friends.”
Mom beams and shoos Adam along.
My pulse quickens. Adam has invited friends? My mind flashes to a pair of honey-colored eyes inches from my own and calloused hands gently resting on my cheeks.
I untwist Portia’s bag of oranges. Their skin is dusty, and leaves cling to some of the stems. Fresh from someone’s backyard grove, no doubt. I prick my thumb on one of the green thorns, and my annoyance sours my words. “Friends or employees?”
Mom’s cheeks turn red. “Oh, don’t be crass. I wouldn’t extend the invitation if they weren’t friends too.”
“Yeah?” I’m trying hard to stay calm and keep my own cheeks from heating. The potential for soul-crushing embarrassment is too great. “Are they coming in costume?”
“No, but that would have been fun.” Mom’s voice has gone all tight.
“Is this about Adam’s business?” Drew has mixed himself and Portia each a mimosa. “Portia and I tried to get tickets for one of his escape rooms tonight, but they’re sold out. Have you been?”
“A few times.” I dig my nails into the peel of the orange. Juice seeps out, stinging the cut on my thumb. “It’s great. The Osric Manor Room is my favorite.” I’m such a liar.
“But the haunted house-style one—Malum Escape—that’s the one with all the Yelp reviews.” Drew is oblivious to the tension that is only growing in this kitchen. I hand him half my orange to shut him up.
It’s not that Dad or Mom are disappointed with Adam’s entrepreneurial endeavors. Crestfallen is the better word. Dad was completely blunt when he told Adam he wanted him to go to law school and that he could not, would not, invest the funds set aside for his law degree in a glorified carnival act. Adam said he’d find other investors, and he did. His returns are still modest, but his growth is promising. Dad still hasn’t been to see it all. He says he gets it: Every man has a reckless phase.
We’d argued over it at one of our working lunches earlier this year. Yes, not only do I still live at home, but I work for my Dad’s firm, McKinny, Rosenberg, and Wallace.
“Adam’s the opposite of reckless.”
“Portia is a lawyer. Julie is a lawyer. You’re a lawyer. Adam should be a lawyer,” Dad insisted.
“The world needs clients too, Dad.” My jokes are never appreciated. “Adam has passion and talent when it comes to business.”
“Of course he does. The boy could do anything he puts his mind to.”
“So tell him!”
Dad scoffed. “I’m not going to encourage him, especially when he still has a degree to finish. Let him work this out of his system. The law will be waiting for him when he’s ready.”
“I don’t think he wants to be a lawyer, Dad.”
“Well…then give me a chance to get the idea of having four lawyers in the family out of my system,” he grumbled.
They have all agreed to disagree. No one has spoken about it since. I’m not sure what Mom’s plan is, but maybe she’s hoping today’s festive mood and crowd she’s assembled is a safe enough space to normalize Adam’s life choices.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking about shaving my legs and wondering what I can change into without looking like I’m making any special effort.
“I hope they come in costume,” Portia says. Despite her tangerine sundress, she’s looking a little haggard. A red-eye flight from Boston will do that to a woman. “Can you imagine Dad’s face posing in the middle of all of them?
“Adam and his merry band of cosplayers,” Drew says, chuckling.
Portia snickers. “Costumed within an inch of their life?”
A quick glance at Mom’s strained smile confirms that I need to hand Portia half an orange to shut her up, but I can’t peel fast enough.
Portia takes the mimosa from Drew. “I knew I liked you,” she tells him as she wraps her arm around his waist.
My throat tightens, and before irritation overwhelms me, I feel the ache inside. What would it be like to have more than just fiction and fantasies to hold on to? Not that I have time at the moment for a relationship. It’s all I can do to keep my cactus collection alive.
When Portia plants a slow kiss on her husband’s lips, I pretend to gag. “Get a room,” I tease as I tighten the strap of the sun hat around my chin. “Dahlias and roses, Mom?”
Mom startles. “Some lilies, too, if you can find them. But the ones by the vegetable garden. There aren’t nearly enough flowers blooming in the front yard.”
“Sure, Mom…” I should let it go. I know it’s a sore subject. I know she’s hoping that Dad will come around and show more support for Adam, and until then, I should let sleeping dogs lie, but I’ll be a nervous wreck for the rest of the morning if I don’t know. “Do you remember which of Adam’s friends he invited today?” I know better than to ask outright if his Badpun cosplayer is coming.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Mom grabs Portia’s bag of oranges and dumps them into a bowl. “I told Adam to invite all of them.”
My stomach feels like it is free-falling. All of them, including Mike, aka Badpun, who has a deviant smile and warm-honey eyes and hands that felt like they belonged on me. I’ve been hoping he’d call since we met last April, but he hasn’t. And I’m fine with that. Completely. I just wish I could stop thinking about him. “Cool.”
“Hurry now. Guests will be here soon. And you promised you’d help out in the pool with our float parade.”
Like that’s going to happen. The last thing I’d ever do is get in the pool with Mike Benedick floating around.
Chapter Two
My mother’s parties are legendary. I think it’s where Adam gets his knack for all things entertainment. He’s been steeped in it since he was in utero. Portia and Julie are old enough to remember life before our father made partner. I am, too, a wee bit, but not Adam. His life has been one long string of lavish parties. Even his grad school and work have thus far been a blast. His word. Not mine. That level of passion for the day job must be nice, and ordinarily I’d feel downright crabby over it, but my dad is pulling Eaton on a dinosaur floaty through the pool while the DJ plays “Baby Shark,” and my tummy is full of the most insane street tacos I’ve ever tasted. I can’t help but smile.
“Can I hire these guys to drive to Boston?” Portia asks as she adds more of the mango salsa to her shrimp tacos.
“Maybe we pay them to park outside the house for the rest of the week?” Drew says before heading toward the food trucks for more.
“It’s brilliant,” Julie says. “Who convinced Mom to hire them over her usual suspects?”
“It was Adam’s idea,” I say. “He says they’re legends in Pacific Beach. He won’t stop talking about the food scene down there.” Although today he won’t stop talking, period. Won’t stop smiling either. You’d think it was his birthday.
Portia stretches her legs out on the chaise. “Impressive that he can afford to hire so many friends.”
“I’m happy for him,” Julie says. A wistful smile graces her face as she waves to her son and our dad in the pool. “Anyone who works as hard as he does deserves some success. Mom said he was at Comic-Con all last weekend, and now he’s TAing this semester on top of classes and running a business.”
“Can’t believe you haven’t even been to his escape room.” I pick at the frayed hem of my denim shorts, twisting the soft white threads around my finger.
“Because new mommies have lots of free time and want to spend that free time locked in dark rooms trying to escape?”
I thumb through an Esty listing of rare and exotic cacti. “When do you stop being a new mommy and become just a mommy?” My guess is never, if it means more doting attention from the family.
Julie sticks her tongue out at me.
“So who all is here from the escape room?” Portia asks.
I point out the tall brunette in line at the taco truck. “That’s Stacey, Adam’s Fem Fantastic.”
“Gorgeous.”
“The dudes in the pool are his Nightbat and Magnificent Man. Fair Play is holding Eaton’s girlfriend in the flamingo floaty.”
“One of his many girlfriends,” Julie says around a bite of her taco. “Little Man is a heartbreaker.”
“How could he not be with those dimples?” Portia licks her fingers.
I point to an older couple with margaritas by the bar. “That’s Jerry and I think his wife. He’s Adam’s Mallard.”
Portia dons her sunglasses. “Every good show needs a character actor.”
“And a villain,” Julie says. “Doesn’t Adam have a Badpun?”
If I start blushing, my sisters will never let me live it down. “Yeah.” I guzzle my ginger ale.
“Which one is Badpun?” Portia demands. “I can never keep them straight.”
“He’s Nightbat’s archnemesis,” Julie says. “A very sinister yet strangely sexy mobster clown.”
Portia gives her a look.
Julie shrugs. “I’m a boy mom. I know these things now.”
“So Adam’s Badpun is going to be the sexiest eye candy here?” Portia lowers her sunglasses.
“The most strangely sexy,” I correct. It’d be suspicious if I said nothing.
“Where is he?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug, even though I know for a fact that Badpun is not here. I know because I’ve been looking. Still, I crane my neck and make a show of scanning the party. “I don’t see him.”
“Adam.” Portia flags down our brother. “We want to meet your villains!”
“Come to my escape room tonight, and you can meet them all.” He grabs Portia’s drink and sniffs it before making a face. “On second thought, maybe you should lie low tonight. Remind me never to let Drew fix me a drink.”
“First, I’m not drunk. Second, it’s not my fault you’re a lightweight. Besides, I’m celebrating.”
“Oh really?” His phone buzzes, and my brother excuses himself.
“Hey, no phones at the table!” Portia yells.
Adam waves her off before answering the call in his I’m-all-grown-up voice. “Adam West McKinny.” And then his face splits into the dopiest grin I’ve ever seen. “Catstrike?”
Adam doesn’t have a Catstrike cosplayer—his standards are impossible when it comes to this character. Trust the sister who took him to every Catstrike movie growing up under the pretense that I wanted to see it when, in fact, Adam begged me to take him. He’s obsessed.
“Adam!” Portia yells. “Go get him. Bring him back.”
Julie rises.
“Not you,” Portia says, yanking Julie back down. “Bea. Go. Bring him back. I need to tell all of you I just made partner.”
Julie shrieks before Portia shushes her and waves me on.
I follow Adam into the house.
“May I call you Sabine?” I hear him say. I weave in and out of my parents’ guests and follow Adam up the stairs, tiptoeing past the nursery and lactation suite.
Adam wanders into my parents’ study, and I’m pressed to the wall, trying to eavesdrop, when I notice the door to my room is ajar—and a man I’d recognize anywhere is sitting on my bed, reading my copy of Anna Karenina.
I push my bedroom door wide open. “Mike Benedick.”
Mike snaps the book closed. Color flushes his cheeks. He’s in my room on my bed, and I could just as easily turn red because this has been one of my fantasies for months now. But I’m going to keep that detail to myself, even if my knees feel genuinely weak. I brace my hand against my doorjamb. It’s a power stance, but also the support I need until my knees start behaving.
“Bea McKinny.” He says my name like I’m a ghost, some unbelievable apparition who has the power to haunt him for the rest of his days, and I almost wobble.
“What are you doing?” For a heartbeat, I think I read panic in his honey eyes. I’m bracing for a stammered apology, followed by a hasty retreat.
Instead, Mike’s full lips press into a smirk. “I got lost.” He crooks a hand behind his head and leans back against my pillows. His bicep bulges as he does so, and my knees will give out if I keep staring. “It’s such a big house.”
“And you ended up on my bed? Reading my book?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to end up in your bed reading your book.” He tosses Anna K. back on my nightstand.
“Get off.” I fold my arms across my chest, proud that I can stand without support once more.
“But it’s so comfortable. Smells nice too.” He sits up, leaning on his elbow, resting his chin in his hand. “Like ginger and oranges.”
Those intense honey eyes are fixed on me. “The party is downstairs. It’s rude to wander around a house uninvited.”
“I was invited. ‘Make yourself at home.’ I have. It’s a good exercise.”
“So is taking the stairs two at a time and then doing some laps in the pool. Out.”
“You learn a lot about a family when you make yourself at home.” He rises and tugs the wrinkles out of his Hawaiian shirt. He’s tall. Taller than me, but that’s not unusual, as I’m only five foot four. Well, five seven today. I’m wearing my platform flip-flops because being the shortest in the family after my mom is not a fun conversation starter. Mike prowls toward me, and my mind flashes to the best thirty seconds of my life—my face in his hands, his lips hovering dangerously over mine, and the sun setting over the Pacific.
“Oh really?” My tone is bored. At least I hope it is. It’s hard to tell when my insides are turning into gel.
“A Del Mar heiress goes to law school to prove she has a brain to rival her old-money charm. Meets a promising, handsome, young, third-year student, falls in love, drops out of law school when she realizes she’s pregnant…” He nudges a small potted cactus on my bookshelf. “Thus, only one diploma hangs in the family study. Baby number two comes heavy on the heels of baby number one. Two girls. The first is the prodigy, the second is the do-no-wrong sweetheart. Mama heiress uses her connections to make sure her darling husband is hired by the right firm and works his way up the ranks from associate to partner in no time. She catches her breath in time to pop out a third child, also a girl, and then at last a son. How am I doing so far?”
If we were in court, I could have objected a half-dozen times over. I could pull apart his evidence, pinpoint the calls for speculation, but we aren’t in court. We’re in my bedroom, and Mike is telling me a story that is true, even if it is oversimplified.
And I am mesmerized.
“Your dad may be successful, but it’s your mom’s trust fund that has made all this possible.” He gestures to the view of the pool outside my window. “But trust funds hardly instill the values of hard work and self-reliance in the rising generation. So I’m guessing that piece of family history was often glossed over.”
I catch myself before I yell, Objection! in my courtroom voice.
“Something wrong?” Mike’s smirk has resurfaced.
Only if we were in a court of law. “Are you finished?”
“This story, while being a charming fairy tale of riches to more riches, isn’t the interesting bit.”
“There’s an interesting bit?”
“It’s the characters.” He presses a tentative finger to the spines of my pink moon cactus. “The firstborn, the eldest sister. I mentioned she’s the prodigy, trophy child determined to prove her own worth and merit as far away from your mama’s influence as possible. I’m guessing she’s putting off a family of her own until she’s attained some arbitrary status of self-worth.”
I frown. “Like partner?”
“Exactly! Second eldest.”
“Juliet,” I offer.
“Juliet is the princess. Family sweetheart. The beauty who can do no wrong. Cemented this role by being the first to settle down and start a family of her own.”
“And Adam?” I’m baiting him. I have to be.
“The prodigal son. That leaves you. The interesting one.”
Heat rises to my cheeks.
A corner of Mike’s mouth twitches into a smile. “No dogs, right?”
“What?”
“Or cats? I didn’t see signs of either, but the accoutrement could have been stowed for the shindig.”
“My mom’s allergic.”
Mike smirks as he rotates my spiral cactus. “The third daughter. Loyal, obedient. You’re the family pet.” He sighs and pulls a frown. “Bit dull, but it fits.”
“You don’t know me!”
Mike laughs, a self-satisfied chuckle that grates against my ears and makes my skin prickle. “Oh, but I do.”
I’ve seen Mike only once before out of his Badpun cosplay, and the man I met was confident, yes, but also charming and charismatic. He was most definitely not an arrogant, rude jerkface. So why is Mike acting like an arrogant, rude jerkface now?
He brings a hand to the wall and leans against it, studying me.
I arch an eyebrow and definitely do not admire the veins that twist around the corded muscles of his forearms. I lift my chin and stare him down. “I’m no one’s pet.”
His teeth flash. “I stand corrected. You’re too sharp. Too…prickly.”
“Prickly? Where do you get off—”
“Everyone plays a part in a family. It’s hard when the good roles are already taken.” He touches the spines of a few of my books with a knuckle. “That makes you very interesting, Bea McKinny.” He glances at me and sucks his teeth. “If you’re not the pet human, I’d say”—his lips curl into a smile—“you’re the family cactus. Sharp. Pretty enough in your own pointy way. And completely stuck. Did you live with your parents all through law school?”
“Out!” I push him out of my room.
But Mike braces himself against the door, and I’ve felt enough of his lean muscle to know he’s not budging. “That night when I almost kissed you was about as much fun as you’ve had in…ever. Am I right?”
He brought it up—and in the hallway for any lactating mama to hear. The scoundrel. My cheeks flush hotter. “No. Not right. But it’s cute you think so.”
“I think you’re lying.”
“Someone has a very high opinion of himself. For the sake of your fragile little actor’s ego, I wish I could tell you that I can’t sleep at night for thoughts of what could have been, but I haven’t thought of you since… No, I’ve never thought of you.” Lies. I’ve cast him as the resident hot guy in every one of Tolstoy’s books.
“I bet when you close your eyes, you picture me.”
I laugh, but it comes out a snort. “Yeah, I imagine a life with an arrogant boor who lives out of his van and dresses up as a psycho clown.” Seriously, when did Mike turn into such a jerk? This is not the man I remember almost kissing on the pier.
He smirks. “This is your childhood bedroom?” He nods with his chin. “Do Mommy and Daddy make you waffles on Saturday morning?”
“No!” I make them waffles, and then we go golfing.
“At least with a van, you have a shot at independence. A chance to be more than a sad, prickly little—”
“Don’t say it.”
“—cactus.”
“Oh, hey guys!” Adam says, stepping out of the study. “I just got a text from Mom. They’re about to sing to the birthday boys.” Adam grabs Mike’s shoulder. “Glad you could make it, man.”
“Bea was just showing me around.”
“You mean showing you out?” I mutter.
But Adam doesn’t hear. “Did she show you her cactus collection? Crazy, right?”
Seriously? I could smack Adam on the back of the head.
“In a cool way!” Adam says before heading downstairs. “Come on. Cake and ice cream awaits.”
“You want me to carry you down the stairs?” Mike whispers. “Your shoes are ridiculous, and I wouldn’t want you breaking an ankle or any of your very sharp spines.”
“You asking to get pricked?”
“Maybe. Why? Do I need Mommy and Daddy’s permission first?”
“Keep talking, and I will slap you in the face with one of my cacti.”
“Can you even reach them if I move them all to the top shelf?”
“Back off,” I snap. Mike wasn’t like this the day I met him. Yes, he was a presuming, psycho clown in the escape room, but that was just him being in character. Wasn’t it?