“I have,” I say, trying to sound casual, “which is why you should get your ass back to New York.”
“I can handle myself,” she says defensively.
I shoot her a look. We’ve had this conversation before. Ever since she showed up at my place in Manhattan, I’ve done my best to keep Sutton away from the less savory aspects of my life.
“I did just fine when Noah Porter came looking for you,” she says.
I drop the knife I’m using to chop tomatoes.
“Noah found you.”
“Showed up at my dorm.” She pops another grape, like the FBI showing up at NYU is a daily occurrence.
“Why didn’t you call me?” I ask. The last thing I need is him dragging her into this, even if she thinks she can handle herself.
“It’s not like he was honest with me.” She rolls her eyes, propping her feet on the barstool and hugging her knees to her chest. “He told me he needed to ask me about my family. I figured it had something to do with when we were kids. I told him I’d been in foster care since I was eight. Then he asked me about that and if I had any contact with my family. I thought he meant dad, so I said ‘nah,’ and then he left. He did give me his number.”
I stare at her through the entire rambling account. “He gave you his number? Or his business card?”
“His number,” she says, leaving no room to doubt what she means. “I have it somewhere. Do you want it?”
I’m going to kill him. Of course Noah would hit on my baby sister. Trust Sutton to attract a man like him. She’s too pretty for her own good, and she’s got a pistol for a mouth. It’s just the combination an alpha male like him goes for. If he only knew.
“It’s not like I’m going to call him,” she says, misreading my face. “Not the same team, remember?”
“How did you figure out he was looking for me?” If I spend another second thinking about Noah trying to flirt with Sutton, I’m going to find myself in jail for murder by nightfall.
“Luca told me.” She freezes, grape in hand, then winces.
“Weren’t supposed to tell me that, were you?”
“If you would keep me updated, I wouldn’t have to! But you went radio silent. What was I supposed to do?” Her shoulders square as she gets fired up. In another minute, she’ll be a five-foot-three, one-hundred-and-ten pound fireball.
“You’re not the one who’s in trouble,” I say calmly before she explodes.
“Luca just told me you had your hands full with MacBitchFace.” Sutton screws up her nose to remind me exactly where she stands when it comes to Adair.
I take a deep breath. This isn’t going to go over well. “About that…”
“Yeah,” she stops me. “Jack told me about that, too. What the fuck are you thinking?”
“I’m in love with her.” I might as well face the truth, and the sooner Sutton accepts it, the better. The last thing that will help me get into Adair’s good graces is Sutton unleashing chaos on our relationship.
Sutton shakes her head like she’s not buying it. “Your dick’s in love with her.”
“Nice,” I mutter, returning to the Jerusalem salad I’m making. I check the clock, trying to guess whether I’ll have time to manage my sister’s fire and prepare all the food for a picnic date. “I don’t expect you to get it. I barely get it myself, but it’s real, okay?”
“Sounds like she doesn’t know it.”
“Yeah, she’s got questions.” I wipe my hands on a towel, finished with the salad. I turn to hummus next, blitzing chickpeas, garlic, tahini and lemon together with my secret weapon, picked up from a Greek YaYa: smoked paprika..
“About?” Sutton presses.
“The last five years,” I admit.
“What have you told her?”
“Nothing.”
“Wait!” Sutton spins the stool around and hops to her feet. “I know more than she does?” She claps and begins bouncing around in her socks. I do my best to ignore her happy dancing at this revelation, but I can’t keep a smile off my face. For as much trouble as she’s going to cause being here—and I know she will—I missed her.
“Sit down,” I order her when Zeus begins to howl out of concern.
In fairness, he never encountered this particular brand of insanity before. Some people burn energy by fidgeting, but Sutton would die if she had to keep still.
“So, what are you cooking for me?” she asks with bright eyes, peering across the counter to watch me work.
“Get takeout,” I tell her. “This is spoken for.”
Her lip sticks out. “And who is getting your sausage?” When I don’t respond, she groans. “Not fair! I came all the way from New York to see you!”
“Without calling to tell me you were coming,” I point out.
“As a surprise!” She feigns devastation. “Only to discover I’ve been replaced by MacBitchFace.”
She watches, faux-wistfully, as I use a mortar and pestle to grind fresh za’atar, a dizzyingly fragrant mix of thyme, sesame, and a dried berry called sumac.
“No one can replace you,” I tell her, and I mean it.
“Unless it comes to dinner,” she mutters.
Adair opens the door to her suite just wide enough to slide through, purse in hand, wearing a loose linen sundress. Her hair is pinned into an artful mess on top of her head, revealing her long porcelain neck. The straps of her dress are thin enough that I can see every delicious freckle on her shoulders.
“Something wrong with your door?” I ask, leaning in to kiss her. It’s swift, a brush of my lips, before she can stop me. When I pull back, her cheeks are flushed pink.
She swallows before saying in a business-like voice, “I thought it best we keep a safe distance between us and a bed.”
“If memory serves, the wall suited you just fine.” I pat the wallpaper for good measure.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warns me, “or I’ll start bringing a chaperone
