She takes a breath so deep I’m surprised she doesn’t burst a lung. “Look, Bran, there’s something I need to tell—”
Destiny bursts through the kitchen door with a plate of chicken wings in her hand and cuts her sister off mid-sentence with a hug. “Hey! It’s so awesome that we’re here together!”
Lilah bumps her forehead against Destiny’s and there’s a warmth in her eyes I’ve never seen before. I’ve seen plenty of heat there—fire that made me hotter than the pits of hell—but this is different, and suddenly I get it. They’re close.
Really close.
They’re fucking twins, so I guess I should have known that, but it took seeing them together to drive it home.
All my insides cramp as the hard truth hits me. The second fucked her sister, any chance I had with Lilah was gone, even though I didn’t know she existed yet.
And I’ve been a royal dick, pushing her to choose me over her fucking blood.
I brace my hands on the bar as Destiny flits across the room and drops the plate on the table under the window. As much as I’m not sure how, I know I’ve got to back the fuck off.
“So…” I say, pushing off the bar and drawing myself a beer. “I figure if we hit the road by seven, that will get us to L.A. in time to grab a bite and head to the studio.”
Finally, Lilah really looks at me. “Seven. Got it.”
“Unless you think you’ll be able to hang out with your friend after the show, we should be able to be back on the road in time to get home by one or two.”
She shakes her head. “She tried to get a minute, but she says she won’t be able to hang out. They’ve got a car back to their hotel and then interviews and some taping for a commercial or something.”
“Okay, then,” I say with a nod. “Sounds like we have a plan.”
She looks at me a long minute, like she has something else to say, but when Destiny comes back by, she gives her an unsure smile and strums the strings.
I try not to let her voice affect me. I’ve heard it enough now that I keep thinking I should be building up some kind of immunity, but I forget how that smoky timbre caresses me, and how the pitch vibrates every cell in my body and goes straight to my groin.
She so fucking owns me.
Destiny’s busy enough that she doesn’t spend much time just hanging out at the bar, and when eleven thirty rolls around, Lilah starts packing up.
“So, I’ll come by your place Tuesday morning,” I tell her as she latches her case.
She empties her tip jar into her bag. “Seven o’clock. I’ll be ready.”
And that’s it. She finds Destiny for a hug on her way out, then she’s gone.
Chapter 18
Lilah
The doorbell rings and I jump at the sound.
“That’s him,” Destiny says, setting down her coffee mug and coming around the counter. “Go. I’ll call you in sick when school opens.”
I hike my bag onto my shoulder and walk toward the door as if marching toward my execution.
She comes with me. “I’d come down with you, but I don’t want Bran to see me with no makeup.”
“It’s fine,” I say, pulling open the door. “He thinks we’ll be back around one.”
“Just shoot me a text when you leave L.A.,” she says, pulling me into a hug. “You’re in good hands, so I won’t worry.”
I nod and start down the stairs.
“And hey, Lilah?”
I turn and Destiny’s sitting on the top step, her cheek in her hand. “It’s a long ride, so if you get a chance to, I don’t know, say something about how cool I am or whatever…” She trails off with a “you can’t blame a girl for trying” shrug.
“Will do.” I turn and head down the rest of the stairs so she can’t see the guilt on my face.
“Take pictures!” Destiny calls after me.
At the bottom of the stairs, I stop and collect myself before opening the door to the street. When I do, Bran is standing there.
“Hey,” he says. “You ready?”
I nod and he turns and leads me across the street to his car parked at the curb. I wait for him to click the locks, but instead he turns the key in the driver’s door lock then slides in and reaches across to unlock the passenger door.
I lower myself into the car and look around. There are cracks in the black vinyl of the seats and there’s a hole in my floor mat where it’s worn through. But otherwise, it’s spotless. No McDonald’s wrappers or old Coke bottles rolling around on the floor like our Neon. “How old is this car?”
“It’s a ‘70 Ford Torino. My grandpa bought it new back then, drag package and all.” He gives the steering wheel a pat as he starts the car with the other hand. “She’s a member of the family.”
“Wow,” I say, giving it a closer look. “And it still runs?”
He flicks on the headlights, hits the gas, and we rumble away from the curb. “It was our project the whole time I was growing up. Think I was five the first time he stood me on a stool at the side of the hood and told me if I learned to take care of it, it would be mine someday.”