A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(10)

My father smiles at me. “And while I’m at it, I’ll find out what’s wrong with your sister, too.”

I thank him, feeling a hundred times better. It can’t be that bad if my father isn’t more worried. Then again, he’s also a crisis counselor, so he knows how to handle high-stress situations well.

“Elise?” my sister says again. “Did you hear me? Hot. Super hot. He even wrote his number on this napkin.” She waves it in front of me until my father casually plucks it from her hand, wiping his mouth on it before folding it in half.

“Thanks, Lucy,” he responds. “I needed a place to spit out my gum.”

“Dad!” My sister laughs and lightly taps my dad in the back of his head as she passes behind him to set the pizza on the counter.

I stand to grab the plates, the bright spots of my day finally seeming worth mentioning. “Yeah, well, I met two cute guys today,” I say quietly.

Lucy spins to face me. One of my sister’s favorite pastimes involves spotting good-looking men, and then making sure to mention them to me.

“More information needed,” she demands, as if I’ve been holding out on her.

“Well, the first was just a customer—so hot. I’ll probably never see him again, though.” I pout my lips for dramatic effect. “But the other,” I say, bringing the plates to the table, “is a guy I work with. He’s not really my type, but he is an amazing specimen.”

“Oh, please,” Lucy says. “Like you have a type. Now who’s the specimen? I must track him down and study him.”

“Your sister is very picky,” my father answers for me. “She doesn’t need a type. She’s waiting for the—”

“Gross, Dad. Spare me,” Lucy interrupts. “Elise,” she says. “Tell me more about this cute boy from work.”

I grin. “His name is Abe and he—”

Her blue eyes widen. “You don’t mean Abe Weston, do you?”

“Um, maybe. I didn’t catch his last name.”

“Holy hell, Elise! I so know him.”

“Lucy, mouth,” my father warns, but he sounds like he’s given up on being included in this conversation.

“Really?” I ask as my sister drops a slice onto the plate I’m holding. I should have figured that Lucy would have heard of Abe. She has the scoop on everyone.

“Well, not really really,” she says. “But I know who he is. He’s from Yuma, and you’re downplaying. He’s incredibly cute. And from what I hear, a total slut.”

“Lucy,” my father says more seriously.

My sister snatches the plate from my hand and sets it in front of my father, smiling sweetly. Then she comes over to take my uninjured arm, lowering her voice. “He probably thought you were adorable. Did he ask you out?”

“Well, he did try to corrupt me out in back of Santo’s,” I say, earning a look from my father. “He asked if I wanted to go to a party with him tonight. Probably not as a date or—”

“Why are you here?” Lucy asks incredulously. “You didn’t say yes?”

I shake my head, and my sister looks offended on behalf of the entire female species. “I’m sorry to say this, Elise,” she states, taking out a slice and biting off the end. “I think you need therapy.”

I hand her a plate, but she pushes it away, instead using her other hand to catch any grease that might drip. I must have thoroughly bored her, because she wanders back over to where my father is sitting.

“Can I go out for a bit?” she asks, her eyes innocent. “I’ll be back at a decent hour.”

“It’s already past a decent hour,” he answers, glancing at her above his glasses. “And you just got home. Maybe tomorrow would be better—when there’s daylight?”

Lucy’s jaw clenches and I feel my own anxiety spike. “I’m eighteen, Dad,” she says in a controlled voice. “You can’t keep me an infant forever.”

Our father leans toward her, his expression sympathetic, but unwavering. “I’m not trying to, Lucinda. I just want to keep you safe.”

“Or locked away in a tower,” she retorts. She tosses her half-eaten slice back into the box before leaving for her bedroom. We wait, and when her door slams shut, my father takes off his glasses to press his fingers into the corners of his eyes.

“She has a point,” I offer. “It’s not like she’s going to sell her soul just because it’s after midnight. Not when she can do it any old time.”

“Not funny,” my father says. I know how much he hates cracking down on Lucy, but ever since that incident with the cops, he doesn’t trust her judgment. I wish he’d bend a little more. I hate when they argue.

We’re silent as we eat, and when I’m done, I kick my sneakers off under the table, sore from my shift.

“You’re tired,” my dad says. “Why don’t you get some sleep, and tomorrow I’ll start gathering some information. I’ll make an appointment with the doctor, have them do a workup. Maybe have a peek at that arm.”

So he is worried. I nod, touching his shoulder as I stand to leave the kitchen. When I get to my room, I collapse on my flowered comforter—still in uniform. I’m so drained. I want to think about my day, try to put together the pieces of what happened, but I can’t keep my eyes open. And soon I find myself drifting away completely.