He glares at her. “Touché.” He turns his smoldering gaze back on me. “So what about it, Ky? You need me to relieve some tension? I bet I can do it in under ten seconds flat.” He licks his lips and twitches his fingers.
My breath catches a little. I take a sip of coffee to cover the sudden shiver that runs down my spine. “No, I’m good.”
“You sure?” he says with a smirk.
He holds my gaze for a long moment, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not tempted. A tiny bit tempted. But only because I’m so keyed up and I’m pretty sure he can make good on that ten seconds flat promise.
Then Selene’s face catches my eye. She’s looking at Braxton the way Braxton’s last girlfriend looked at me. Murder glare.
I see the instant he realizes how his sister is looking at him. The mischievous, seductive grin is gone, as if it had never been there, and he takes my coffee out of my hands. “You really need to pick better one night stands, Ky. This is getting embarrassing.”
I let out another sigh. He takes a drink and hands it back. He’s more right than he knows.
“You know what, my new year’s resolutions got fucked all to hell, so I’m regrouping right now,” I say. “No more stupid hookups. No more pointless sex. I’m either going to be with a guy with actual potential, or no one at all.”
“Good for you, babe,” Selene says.
Braxton looks at me, his expression unreadable. I hate it when he looks at me like that. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but it usually means he’s about to make fun of me.
“Yeah, good,” he says. “You should be with someone with potential.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. Really? That’s all he’s got? “Okay, then. We’re all in agreement. I need you guys to help me stick with this. This year was supposed to be different, but it won’t be if I keep doing the same things over and over. Isn’t that, like, the definition of insanity or something?”
Braxton takes my coffee again. “Okay, then. To different.” He raises the cup and takes a sip, then hands it back to me.
“To different,” I say. Maybe it’s not midnight on January first, but I can toast to that.
To different.
Ideas like that always sound good when you’re at the beginning of them, don’t they? I’m going to change! I’m going to be better! I’m going to stop jumping into bed with losers!
Six weeks into my renewed pledge to change my life, and I’m basically bored and lonely.
Other than going to work, I haven’t been out much. I’m too skittish to go out, as if I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll let some guy’s dick fall into me accidentally. I haven’t had a drink since the Night of Gin and Bad Choices. I’d miss that more if I was going out, but since I’m not, it sort of works. And hey, I’m all caught up on at least five different series on Netflix, so I have that going for me.
But right now, different is dull.
I grab the two bags of takeout and head into the building where my dad lives, then sign in at the front desk and take the food upstairs. I Skyped Dad before I left, so he’s already sitting at his little dining table when I come in.
“Hey sweetheart,” he says.
I can tell right away he’s having a good day. His face is relaxed and his eyes aren’t tinged with pain. “Hi Dad.”
I set the food on the table and get plates and silverware, hoping he can hold his fork okay. I bring everything out and dish us up. “Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been by,” I say as I sit down. “How have you been?”
“As good as can be expected,” he says.
At least he’s honest. “Are you keeping busy?”
“Oh, sure,” he says. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
Ugh, really, Dad? “No, I’m definitely not dating anyone.”
“Why definitely?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m focusing on me right now.”
“That sounds like a bunch of magazine mumbo jumbo.”
I laugh. “I just want to date the right guys instead of the wrong ones for a change.”
He takes a bite. It’s slow, but he manages. “You’ve been dating the wrong ones?”
“Well, obviously—because hi, pushing thirty and still single,” I say.
Dad puts his fork down. “You’ll find him, sweetheart. You just make sure he’s good to you. You’re a bright, beautiful woman, and you don’t deserve anything less than a man who treats you well.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Aw, Dad, you’re going to make me cry.”
He just smiles at me.
I’m not used to him being quite so … emotive. He’s usually lawyer-serious.
“So, does this working-on-you plan include finding a new job?” he asks.
I do my best not to groan. My career choice is a sore subject between us. He wanted me to go to law school. Instead, I went to art school and got a degree in graphic design—which I have yet to actually use, because I couldn’t find a graphic design job for the first few years out of college. Since then, I’ve more or less stopped looking.
“Work is fine,” I say. That’s not even a tiny bit true. My job is stupid and boring. “But I’ve been thinking about doing some freelance stuff.”