His sister.
His parents.
My stomach churns.
I haven’t seen my cousin since the wedding, and I’ve only met his mother and father once. All they actually know about me is that I know karate and can lift their son.
Oh god, what if they hate me? What if I’m only that girl from the tabloids—the one he was photographed sucking face on the sidewalk, in the rain?
“Chandler dear,” Mrs. Wallace says, rising from the barstool and coming at me with outstretched arms. “How lovely to see you!”
“Dial it down, Ma,” Tripp mutters, still behind me, no doubt shooting her one of his famous agitated looks above my head.
“Hi there.” Nervously, I tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear and give everyone a wimpy little wave, accompanied by a wobbly smile. “Am I interrupting a family thing? I hate to intrude.”
There must have been some mistake, or a miscommunication between myself and Hollis—I thought friends would be here, not just a gathering of Buzz’s family.
Which definitely makes me feel like an interloper.
They all look so comfortable, lounging around in their casual clothes, my cousin and her new husband tan and glowing from their week in the sun. Relaxed. Happy. His arm is around her shoulders and he’s kissing her temple, their lips then meeting for a quick peck.
That’s what love looks like.
Easy.
Comfortable.
“Chandler!” Hollis exclaims, breaking away from the hubby to enfold me in a hug. “I missed you!” She takes my hand and drags me around the kitchen counter, where a feast is spread out. Food in giant tin chafing dishes, steaming hot and ready to eat. “Look at all this! I’m starving and you’re right on time—we were just about to eat and watch the Bolts play the Wildcats.”
My eyes stray to Tripp, who’s flopped onto the living room couch.
“What about him? Does he have a game this weekend?”
“No, it’s a bye week.” Hollis is already busy handing me a plate and utensils and digging into the piping hot lasagna to explain what that means. Luckily, I already know the term since I was raised in a family where they live and breathe sports.
In sports that play every single week during their season, each team gets one entire week off and doesn’t have a single game.
This is Tripp’s week off.
I thought he had off during Buzz’s wedding, but I must have been mistaken. Perhaps they did a good enough job planning the entire thing so he could attend, what with their agents and managers and publicists scheduling everything—they must have all coordinated so the brothers could be together.
When my plate is full—bearing garlic bread and salad, too—I am ushered to the massive table off the kitchen where a few other things are set out, tiny cheesecakes and brownie bites.
“You’re going to have to roll me out of here when we’re done,” I tease, eying a strawberry dessert. “Where did these come from?”
“I made those, dear,” Mrs. Wallace tells me, taking the chair across from me, motioning for her husband to sit down next to her. True sits next to him, Buzz on the other side of his mother, and Hollis on one side of me, leaving only one space for the remaining Wallace.
By my side.
How convenient. They couldn’t have made their strategy any more obvious.
When Tripp straddles the bench I’m on to sit his ass down, he bumps my back with his plate, nudges my knee with his thigh, and hits my arm with his elbow—as if he is an elephant in a delicate tea shop that cannot stop breaking things.
The man is about as subtle as a runaway dump truck plowing through a dining room wall.
And he has his eye on my meal.
“Are you going to eat that?” His hand is halfway between us, fingers taking on a claw shape—aka: grabby hands. Steering toward my carbs.
“Do not start that again,” I grumble, too hungry to tolerate his antics so early on in the evening. “You have a plate of food—stop bothering me.”
“I thought we were friends” comes his low reply, his teeth tearing into the garlic bread in his hand. “Friends share.”
“Just because I kissed you does not make us friends.”
“Oh yeah?” Chew, chew, swallow. “That’s weird, I thought that’s exactly what it made us, since we’re family and all.”
Ew, gross. “First of all, we are not family. Second of all—”
“Big brother, would you like to tell the rest of the class what’s so funny?” True Wallace is staring at us both, fork poised below her mouth, dark eyebrows raised as she watches her brother pouting over his dinner plate.
I clear my throat and smile, doing my best to be polite, despite the nerves in my stomach. I could kill him for adding to my anxiety but decide to go with honesty since the Wallace clan seems to be one that appreciates brutal truths and hard facts.