Her eyes widen a little when they meet my bare chest, quickly snapping away to the half-empty fruit bowl sitting in its usual spot on the counter. She walks that way, letting me close the door behind her.
Digging through the bowl, she makes the same face she always does at the contents inside—lips pinched, and eyes narrowed like the pears did something to offend her. “You should really keep donuts in here, you know?”
Lips twitching upward, I cross my arms over my chest. “In the fruit bowl?”
“The apartment.” Her tone is woven with her usual sarcasm, a language she speaks fluently in.
She isn’t facing me, but I’d bet good money she rolled her green eyes. She thinks they’re boring, generic. She doesn’t see the silver specks that make them gem-like, almost amblygonite. In some ways they remind me of Everett’s hues, just slightly different.
“If I knew you were coming,” I reply pointedly, “I would have made sure there were some waiting for you. Which brings us back to my main question. What are you doing here?”
Her lips part to answer just as a noise stirs from the direction of my bedroom. Charlie’s eyes widen a fraction before glancing at me, her gaze calculated as she takes in my state of undress.
“Oh.” She clears her throat as Rhianna/Rachel comes out in nothing but yesterdays faded 90’s grunge band t-shirt, which does little to cover necessary parts of her anatomy.
She gives Charlie a shocked look, having the decency to yank on the hem of the shirt to cover her a little better. “I didn’t realize we had company, Ollie Poo.”
Cringing at her horrible nickname for me, I glance over at Charlie to see her mouthing back Ollie Poo while shooting me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me stare.
Wish I was, kid.
Rhianna/Rachel turns her focus to Charlie, examining her from the top of her loose blonde waves all the way down her white fitted tee, denim cutoffs, and worn gray Converse. She looks like she’s about to cruise the—
Fuck.
I agreed to take her to the History Museum today to celebrate her first month of classes being done. She’s wanted to go since she got here, but our schedules hadn’t lined up.
Before I can apologize, last night’s hookup finally finishes assessing her. Any jealousy over another female being in my apartment washes from her made-up face. I don’t remember all the makeup last night, but I was also three sheets to the wind and in the mood for a mindless screw. “Ollie Poo, is this your little sister? She’s so … cute.”
Anyone who really knows Charlie knows that cute is not a word you use to describe her. Whether true or not, this chick just opened a can of worms.
“That’s so funny,” Charlie replies in a sugary sweet tone, giving Rhianna/Rachel a once-over that only I seem to know is dangerous. She turns and bats her lashes at me, which aren’t caked with black gunk and outlined with brown liner unlike my hookup’s were. “Did you hear that, Ollie Poo? Another one of your five cent hookers thinks I’m your sister.” She turns back to Rhianna/Rachel feigning innocence. “Sweetie, if you think you’re the only one lucky enough to have him peel your panties off with his teeth, you’re wrong. Imagine what he does to me at night.”
My eyes bulge. Jesus fucking Christ.
My hookup goes pale, which probably mirrors the expression on my face. Her lips part as she rushes into the bedroom and gathers her clothes, not bothering to change into them before side stepping me.
Reaching out, I try clearing whatever thoughts she must have of me, since it’s obvious Charlie is much younger. “Rhianna, it’s not what you think—”
“It’s Tatiana!” she growls, slapping my hand away from her.
“Hear that, baby? It’s Tatiana.”
Tatiana blanches. “You two are gross.”
She opens the door, but doesn’t make it far before Charlie calls out, “Does it make it sicker that he’s actually my uncle?”
I palm my face as the front door slams.
“Huh,” Charlie muses. “Guess so.”
Shaking my head, I look at Charlie like she’s officially lost her mind. Why the hell would she say that? Ever since she got here, she’s been all attitude and sass. I’m used to it in small doses, easy banters that make me chuckle like when I visited her in New York, but she’s different now.
Her expression beams with pride, not caring what Tatiana must think of us.
“Was that really necessary?” Doubt drowns my tone as I go back