What If (If Only.... #2)(23)

He hops off the chair and heads back around the counter, so I turn to leave, letting his words sink in. If it didn’t make me happy to see someone so protective of her, I’d think he was a douche. I laugh to myself, thinking of Scotland, of Jordan, and how she earned the same fierce protectiveness from her roommate, Elaina. Elaina would have kicked my ass without question if I hurt Jordan. Lucky for me, Jordan kicked my ass instead. And f*ck that I’m still thinking about it two years after the fact. “If she’s not in class or at the campus library, she’s here.” I hear Miles over my shoulder, so I pause at the door. “That’s pretty much her routine, working there or working here. But not today. She’ll be okay by tomorrow.”

As soon as he says those last words, he curses under his breath. “Fuck.” I open my mouth to ask him what the hell he means, but he nudges the other barista out of the way, taking over with the line of customers at the counter. I guess our conversation is over.



“Really?” Nat asks when I walk in fifteen minutes late. “You’re killing me here, baby brother.”

I push past her to the kitchen where I can see the pitcher of mimosa calling me like a beacon to the counter. “Nat, you’re barely four years older than me. It’d be nice if you’d give it a rest sometimes.”

She follows me until I stop, arms braced on the cool granite surface. “I’m sorry,” I say, eyes trained on the floor.

“For what? Being late? Making it harder and harder for me cover for you so Dad still thinks you’re worth investing in for this whole eventual, business-partner thing? Or is it for being a dick to me just now?”

This last one gets me to smile, and I pull her in for a hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m going to go with A and C for now. I’m still thinking about option B.”

She sighs, defeated, of course, by my brotherly charm, and returns the hug.

“You could tell them. That’s an option.”

“They could take away the car, the apartment. Those are options, too.”

She pushes herself from me, leaving her hands on my shoulders. “And you can grow the f*ck up, do something that makes you happy, and support yourself financially. That’s my favorite option.”

“Mom! Earmuffs!”

Violet has impeccable timing. I scoop her into a hug, and she squeals with laughter.

“We have to do something about your mother’s language.”

“Tell me about it,” she says before kissing me on the cheek. “Grandma wants more juice,” she says, brandishing an empty crystal champagne flute, save for the bits of orange juice pulp clinging to the sides.

Nat grabs the glass from her, rolling her eyes. “Well, I guess Mom won’t care if you’re late.”

“She never does,” I say, filling my mother’s glass and then one for myself.

“Ugh,” she says. “When do you get to stop being the favorite simply because you’re the baby? Because it’s been annoying the crap out of me for twenty-three years.”

I raise my eyebrows and look down at Vi, who crosses her arms and stares at her mom.

“What?” Then the recognition registers on her face. “Damn it. Gah!” She slaps me on the shoulder. “This is your fault! You make me go all frustrated mom on you, and I lose any ability to censor myself. Violet, please tell him I don’t talk like this at home.”

Violet grabs the flute back from her mother and then turns to me. “Fine. She’s better at home. But let’s get one thing straight.” She eyes us both. “I’m the favorite.”

With that the little brat exits, and Nat and I both lose it.

“What’d we miss?” Megan and Jen brush past Violet as she exits, Jen holding her flute out for a refill and Megan nearly plowing into me with her eyes trained on her e-reader rather than where she’s walking.

“Eyes on the road there, Rory Gilmore.” She bumps into me anyway.

“Huh?”

“Haha!” Jen laughs. “I doubt you’d ever catch Rory reading that!”

“Huh?” Megan asks again.

“I don’t even think she knows we call her that,” Jen adds.

“We’ve been calling her that since the episode where Rory was reading Ulysses the same time she was.” Natalie turns to Megan. “Not quite Ulysses today? Tell your baby brother what you’re reading.”

Megan’s eyes narrow. “Tell Mom and Dad who your sperm donor is.”

“Oooh, I like where this is going.” Jen hops up on the counter next to the pitcher. “Are we ever going to find out?”

With her successful deflection, Megan’s head falls back to her book, and she sidesteps the counter for the kitchen table and sits down. I follow her without notice and start reading over her shoulder.

“Careful, Megan. Or Griff’s gonna read your porn.” I guess Jen lost interest in Nat’s baby daddy.

Megan’s head shoots up, and my eyes go wide.

“Porn? Rory reads porn now?” I ask.

“It’s not porn,” Megan says, an eerie calm taking over her voice before her lips turn up in a wicked grin. “It’s male-male shifter porn, and it’s freaking fantastic.”

I look at Jen, her shoulders shaking with laughter. My eyes switch to Megan who does the same. “Male-male? Girls like that?”