Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89503 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Markie’s a pistol,” he says. “I tried to tell you that before she had a chance to wrap you up in her nonsense.”
“In her nonsense? I’m not following you, Miles.”
“The pickleball bullshit. She told me you were her partner, and I can only imagine what stunts she pulled to get you to do that.”
I flinch, not just at his words, but at his tone, too. Miles is abrasive and pretty cold as a human being. But, for some reason, I expected his relationship with his family to be different. More … warm. Even though Markie seemed to share a lot of my sentiments about her brother, I still imagined that he had a soft spot for her and Mira.
“Actually,” I say, pacing around the room. “I volunteered, and she turned me down a few times.”
“Right.”
“Really,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “She’s a lot of fun and one hell of a competitor.”
He scoffs, and the sound pisses me off. “She said you were fucking, so cut the shit, Plath.”
“Excuse me?” My feet stop moving. “You wanna rephrase that?”
“No.”
My blood heats, scalding my veins as it races its way around my body. Who the fuck does Miles think he is? And what makes him think that I’m the guy who’s going to put up with it?
“That would be a mistake,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
I have to walk a fine line. If he were anyone else, I’d tell him to screw off. But he’s Markie’s brother and will be her brother whether she and I are fucking or not.
My hand balls into a fist at the idea of oversimplifying what this is between us to just fucking. That doesn’t come close to describing our relationship. Hearing it reduced to that—to something cheap and disposable—is an insult. Especially coming from her brother who, at the very least, should have her back. It ignites something ugly inside me.
“You do know that she does this, right?” he asks. “She’s a little attention whore who—”
“Stop.” The room becomes eerily quiet as my hand curls into a fist so tight that my nails bite into my skin. “I’d stop talking if I were you.”
He chuckles. “She doesn’t need you to defend her.”
“Do you realize that you’re talking about your sister?” I ask. “Forget the way that I feel about her. She’s your family, Miles. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me aside from the fact that I have two sisters who can’t just move on with their damn lives and stop trying to pretend like we’re some big happy family. I mean, I probably wouldn’t even recognize them if I saw them on the street.”
What the actual fuck?
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my temple. “Didn’t you have her leave the house keys and utility information for me?”
The line is silent.
“And didn’t you have her bring me the key to the mechanical room?” I ask. “And when the guy from the water department came around to read the meter, he said Markie had called and asked them to do that.”
He sighs. “What’s your point?”
“The fact that you can’t see my point and have to ask for an explanation says it all.”
Markie has jumped through a number of hoops for Miles since I’ve been in town. And she’s done every one of them without muttering a cross word. She’s never complained or failed to follow through. She’s been … Markie.
The woman spending her Friday night decorating a barn for her friend’s wedding. Who has lunch with her grandma after church on Sundays. Everyone describes Markie the same way—fun, loyal, and responsible.
She answers her brother’s calls when she shouldn’t.
When she said every man aside from her dad and grandfather has let her down, she really meant that shit.
“You know,” I say, pacing again. “Streets run both ways. Why don’t you just stop calling your sisters? Don’t take their calls? Or is there a reason you keep the line of communication open?”
I shake my head angrily. Now that I think about it, Markie's first comment about Miles makes even more sense. He uses them. He doesn’t give a shit about the relationship—or would know them if he passed them on the street—yet he’s okay to utilize their “family status” for whatever he feels is beneath him.
It’s no wonder Miles keeps this place as a rental as it’s never any skin off his nose to keep it running. His sisters do that for him for free.
“You keep the lines of communication open because you use them when it’s convenient for you, right?” I ask, lobbying my accusation his way with no fucks given.
“You just met Markie a month ago. Don’t talk to me like you know anything about our relationship.”
“Ditto, motherfucker.”
“Oh, so that’s where we are now? We’re at motherfucker?” he asks with equal parts surprise and fury. “Okay. Okay, good to know.”