"So, Savvy, huh?" she asked, piercing me with eyes so much like mine, like our brothers', like our mother.
"No, not Savvs, huh, kid," I told her, even though I knew at this point that was the closest thing I had ever come to lying to my sister. I would never claim to have been the best parental figure in the world, but I always prided myself in my honesty with her. Life had forced her to grow up fast. I had treated her like the mini adult she had been.
But there was something to her thinking there was something going on with Savea and me.
Because, well, if she didn't show up, I had a feeling there would have been no stopping back in my office.
A kiss would turn into clothes coming off, to us breaking in my desk for the first time.
Atlas had told me that it would have been number one on his priority list after getting the place finished - to find a girl and christen the desk.
Which really spoke heavily toward his priorities opposed to mine as I spent the next few weeks frantically trying to find some work, build my client base up.
Not that I blamed him.
So much of our lives had been focused on one goal.
Revenge.
It left time for little else.
It didn't give us the ample free time he now had. And, of course, we were all making up for lost time in our own ways. Me with trying to get a legitimate place up and running, trying to make a real name for myself, erase the past, put down roots for the future. And Atlas, well, he was chasing all the skirts he never had the time to before.
Hardly anyone would blame him. Though all the women in his life - our sister included - had started to get on his case about getting a little more serious about life, finding a woman who lasted more than a night or two or - on the rare chance of pulling a weekender - three nights.
But he showed no signs of changing.
I hadn't either. My workaholic ways were known far and wide. The girls got on me about not working myself to death, about enjoying life, about finding a woman, having the kids they all knew I longed for even if I never said so myself - a part of me believing it was simply too late. I had waited too long. It wasn't in the cards for me.
But then fate tossed someone into my life, threw her not only into my work - where many women had been before - but into my apartment, into my life, into my goddamn bed.
It was a miracle I had been able to get to sleep the night before. Her smell was everywhere. Well, more accurately, my smell was all over her. Which, arguably, might have been even more intoxicating than the scent of a woman's personal products. It was more intimate, having me all over her. Her hair splayed all over the pillows - pure inky silk, close enough to touch, occasionally brushing against my arm as she tossed to find a new position. And, heaven fucking help me, she made this cute as hell, unexpected whimpering noise as she fell asleep.
The sexual tension was enough to keep me up and down all night. The blankets felt hot, oppressive. Even my subconscious seemed unnaturally attune to every move she made. Finally, I had needed to crawl out of the bed early after only a few stolen, broken hours. Padfoot had happily occupied my vacant space, backing his traitorous ass up into her until she, completely out, curled into him. Spooned him.
And me?
I was fucking jealous of my dog.
The day had been full of work. Both on her case and another. Well, it was supposed to be a full day of work. But my focus was shit. My mind kept circling back to her. Wondering what she was doing. Hoping she was getting on with Rush. But not on too well. I pictured her playing tug with Padfoot, making coffee barefoot in my kitchen, curled up on the couch watching TV, maybe catching a nap, relaxing like she hadn't been able to do much at all in her life.
And I found that with each of those thoughts, a warmness swirled around my stomach, an odd expanding sensation gripped my chest.
"Ouch," Scotti said, pressing a hand to her chest, rubbing the spot just under her collarbone.
"What?" I asked, body stiffening.
"You just lied to me. Lied. My big, moral, honest brother just lied right to my face. It hurts," she told me, shooting doe eyes at me.
"Scotti..."
"Don't Scotti me with the sad voice now that you're feeling guilty," she demanded as we took a turn down a side street, both dogs perking up, tails waggling, knowing we were almost at a small, secluded park with a little walking trail through the woods where they could smell all the local wildlife. Sometimes, when I knew no one was around to be pissed about letting him off-leash, I would let Padfoot jump around in the stream, always coming out a bright orange color from the clay along the banks, panting, exhausted, but happy.