“What’s that?”
She squealed and then glowered at Zach, now standing beside her. “Don’t scare me like that.”
He snorted, typical teenage sarcasm dialed to seven. “Edgy much?”
Before she could respond, he plucked the flyer from her hand and studied it with melodramatic intensity. “So what are you going to wear?”
“What?” She raised her eyebrows at him.
He flapped the flyer at her. “To the opening. It’s tonight. In an hour and a half, in fact. You need to check your mail more often. What are you going to wear? Reckon I can wear jeans? My suit got repossessed.”
“What?” she repeated. Her brain wasn’t working properly. Maybe because her pulse pounded in her ears like a maniacal drum?
Zach took her wrist in a firm grip and pressed the gallery flyer back into her hand. “Si. The guy you’ve spent the last six weeks moping about has done something pretty freaking amazing, as far as I can see. Maybe it’s time to stop moping?”
Mouth dry, she frowned. “I thought you said he was a fuckwit?”
Zach grinned. “He is a fuckwit. But clearly, he’s a fuckwit who knows how to grovel. Groveling is good. Trust me, when a guy grovels, it means we know we’ve fucked up big time. And we only grovel to people we actually like.”
Sienna caught her bottom lip with her teeth. What James had done to her, what he’d intended to do, had been beyond reprehensible. Beyond the actions of a fuckwit. She didn’t want anything to do with him. She didn’t.
So why was she suddenly thrumming with an energy absent in her life for the last six weeks? “I really wish you wouldn’t swear,” she muttered.
Zach laughed. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll swear less, if you go tonight.”
She glared at him.
“C’mon.” He nudged her shoulder with his. “What’s the worst that could happen? If he does something horrible to you, I’ll punch him in the jaw again. And you can throw a glass of champagne in his face in front of everyone. That’s got to be worth going, right?”
A wry laugh fell from her as she stared at the flyer.
“Please come. J.”
The simple request reached into her tight chest and squeezed her heart.
“And if he’s nice…” Zach left the rest of the sentence unspoken, his impish expression more than vocal enough.
She chewed more on her lip.
“If nothing else,” he went on, a warm smile in his voice, “you can get that whole closure thing I’m constantly hearing adults want. And I can pig out on some fancy finger-food. No offense, sis, but as far as cooks go, you’re an awesome artist.”
“Hey.” She pouted.
He grinned.
She dropped her gaze back to the flyer and then back to Zach at the sound of him tapping something into his phone.
He shoved it into his pocket, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Done.”
“Done what?” The blood drained from her face. Her lips tingled. “What did you do?”
“Booked an Uber. So you better go get ready.”
“Zach,” she groaned, even as a million butterflies burst into life in her stomach.
“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “I know. Thank me later.”
He ran from the kitchen, leaving her to chew on her lip alone.
Should I go?
An hour later, and she was still asking herself the same question. Absurd really, given the fact she was sitting in the backseat of a Prius zipping toward the State Art Gallery dressed in black palazzo pants, an emerald-green halter top, and slightly less evil stilettos burrowed from Carrie as Zach chatted to the Uber driver about some television show involving dragons and snow zombies.
She let out a shaky sigh. What am I doing?
“We’re here,” Zach threw over his shoulder as the Prius came to a halt outside the glass-and-steel gallery.
She stared at the building through the window. The burgundy gloss she’d slicked over her lips saved her chewing on her bottom one.
Zach pulled the passenger door open. “Time to get out, chicken.”
She frowned up at him. “Tell me again why I like you?”
He flashed her a grin. “Cause we’re family.”
“I hate to tell you this,” she climbed out of the backseat, “but that means squat.”