“Daisy Louise Flannigan, you are in so much trouble. The orgasms better have been worth making your sister worried sick.”
I flushed. Someday I’d get used to my baby sister talking so much more casually about sex than I ever could. “Just one, and it was, until I was stabbed.”
“Um, what?”
“Never mind. I’m okay. Everything is fine now. Just a little bit of insanity. You know, your average crazy weekend.” With added blows and blood and breaking and entering.
“Where are you? You better have been kidding about being stabbed.”
“Uh, not exactly, but don’t worry, the police are on their way.”
“What?” Ever’s screech nearly busted my eardrum to go with the rest of the infirmities I’d collected so far this weekend. “You better start talking.”
The sound of wheels rolling over gravel outside meant it was time to talk to the cops. “I can’t right now, but I’ll call you back later, promise. We should be back tomorrow night.” At least I was pretty sure. “But if I’m late, don’t freak. It’s okay. I’m safe.”
“Oh, yeah, did you meet a hot guy?”
“No, I’m with Oz.”
I wanted to clarify the hot thing. Was there any male hotter than the one I was with? Not hardly. But I wasn’t going to say that when he was in earshot.
His head—both of them—was big enough already.
Exactly why I hadn’t praised his songwriting—fucking amazing—or his hair—glorious—or the sound of his sexy, raspy voice singing me awake this morning. I would happily be awakened just like that for the rest of my life.
Good luck there, Daze.
“Not Croly Street Oz. What the fuck are you doing?”
I rolled my eyes. ‘Croly Street Oz’ was always how she referred to him, a nod to the street Kerry and Oz had grown up on. She’d always seen Oz as untouchable. Like he thought he was too good for me or something. I’d never said anything to give her that vibe, but she’d always accused me of being in love with him, even back in the old days.
Which was crazy. I’d never been in love with anyone. Certainly not Oz. And so what that I’d rarely been able to come when it came to any hand but my own? He’d just gotten lucky. Add in an adrenaline spike from the near crash and it was completely explainable. It wasn’t as if him touching me was the fulfillment of a dream more than five years in the making.
I’d just keep telling myself that.
“It was the anniversary,” I said quietly, picking at the edge of the bandage Oz had carefully applied to my arm. His big fingers so tender, his brow furrowed with concentration. He hadn’t rushed or fussed or been anything but kind and patient. As if his entire being was focused on that one task.
My heart sometimes felt too big to be contained in my chest when it came to him. Sure, I probably had some hero worship in his direction that hadn’t faded with the intervening years. He was so big and strong and beautiful to boot, especially when he had his bass in his hands.
Who could blame me for falling into that typical role of having a crush on my best friend’s older brother?
Except my best friend was gone. I hadn’t seen Oz in years until last fall. But I’d never forgotten him. I’d never stopped thinking of him. When the chance to apply for a spot on the band’s hair and makeup crew had opened up, I’d jumped at the great opportunity. Not because of Oz.
I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it.
A couple of male voices joined Oz’s in the living room. “Look, I really gotta go. We’ll talk later. Everything’s fine. Love you to the moon.” After giving her our standard goodbye, I hung up before she could argue.
Because she would have. That was my Ever.
I tucked the phone in the pocket of Oz’s shorts and threw back my shoulders. I could do this. Talking to the cops was no big deal. So what if the last time had been after Kerry’s overdose? This wasn’t then. I wasn’t a shaking eighteen-year-old girl who couldn’t decide if I wanted to throw up or sob.
In the end, I’d
done both.
But I was stronger now. I still did stupid, crazy, overemotional things—this whole weekend and our near accident last night was proof enough of that—but I also got my head back on straight pretty fast. I’d taken some punches, literally and figuratively, and I wasn’t on the floor, weeping.
At least not yet.