Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(35)

I flinch.

“Wow. Playing the Mimi card already?” My whisper is stark. “Guess your deck is stacked pretty low, if you’re already resorting to emotional blackmail.”

His face crumples a bit, when I say that, and I swear it sends a lance straight through my chest cavity. As pissed as I am at Duncan — and, trust me when I tell you, I’ve been seeing red for weeks — it still pains me to see him hurt. More so when I’m the one causing him pain.

“I’m sorry.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I shouldn’t have gone there. Shouldn’t have brought her up.”

I shrug. “I’m not the one who refuses to talk about her. You’re confusing me with our parents. They’re so adept at dodging emotionally-charged discussions, fuckboys all over the world should take classes from them.”

He snorts. “As if you’re a barrel of free hugs. When was the last time you actually had a conversation with someone about anything of substance, little sister?”

Just yesterday, in fact. But you’d never believe me, if I told you who I had it with…

“You know me,” I murmur instead, the white lie familiar on my tongue. “The good time girl — I’m style over substance, whenever possible.”

He stares at me with apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”

“Sorry I called you a dick.”

His brow creases. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did. Several times.” I pause. “In my head.”

His lips tug up in the beginnings of a smile. “It’s good to see you, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Yeah, but you’ll always be my kid sister.”

“Much to my chagrin.” I sigh. “I keep trying to emancipate myself, but apparently you have to do that before you become a legal adult. If I weren’t such a procrastinator, I’d have gotten rid of you and the rest of the Sinclair clan a long time ago.”

“Still a smartass, I see.”

“Leopard, spots. You know what they say.” I shrug. “Too late to change my ways now.”

“Yeah, you’re what, twenty-six?”

“Twenty-five,” I correct instantly.

“Ah. Ancient.”

“Says the thirty-year-old!”

He opens his mouth to reply, but his words are overridden by a strange scuffling sound, coming from the leather satchel by his feet. My eyes drop to it, and I see the sides are moving like its alive.

“What the hell is that?!” I yell, backpedaling away from it quicker than I would an atomic bomb. “What’s in there?”

“Nothing,” he says immediately.

“Your bag is wiggling! By itself! You call that nothing?”

“Just ignore it, it’ll stop.”

“What the hell, Duncan?”

He stares at the bag until it goes still. “See? Stopped. Now… what were we talking about?”

A soft, sorrowful yap comes from the satchel.

I blink at it in disbelief. “Is there a dog in that bag?”

“No,” Duncan denies.

“Oh, really?” I hiss. “That’s weird, since it just barked.”

Before he can say another word, I reach down and unzip the top of the leather satchel. I’ve barely gotten the zipper open when a furry head pops through the opening.

I’m so startled, I fall back on my ass with a jarring thud. My eyes widen as a reddish ball of fur follows me down, leaping paws-first onto my chest. All I manage to glimpse is a broad red muzzle and a flash of pink tongue before I’m attacked by the vicious monster…

With about a thousand kisses.

Very slobbery kisses.

Over every square inch of my face.





Chapter Seven





Of course I got your text message. I’m choosing to ignore it. Don’t be so clingy.



Delilah Sinclair, unapologetically screening her cellphone communications.





“Ah!” I yell, lifting my hands to shield myself from the relentless doggie drool. “Duncan!”

I can hear him laughing somewhere overhead, doing absolutely nothing to help extract me from the onslaught of canine affection. With considerable effort, I manage to get a grip on the small furry body, still wriggling like a hula girl on speed against my chest. My eyes crack open and look straight into a set of glossy brown irises, staring out at me with sheer exuberance from a hairy red face.

Oh, boy. What is it with me and redheads, lately?

His lolling tongue makes another swipe for my cheek. I set him on the floor and scramble upright before he can give me another bath, wiping my face dry with the sleeves of Luca’s sweatshirt. The tiny dog sits by my feet, head cocked up at me like I’ve just promised a lifetime supply of Milk-Bones. Its short tail wags furiously.

As I hold eye contact with the mini monster, I have to admit it’s pretty cute. If I were to sort of person who was interested in the commitment of a pet… Which, I’m not. At all.

Right?

Crap on a cream puff.

I swallow and forcibly move my gaze up to stare at my brother.

“You know how I feel about pets.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He scoops up the dog and returns it to the leather carrier. It stays put for about two seconds before jumping back out and scampering off to explore the rest of my apartment, ears flapping in the wind, clumsy paws sliding against the slippery hardwood.