One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,1

points to the sign near the door, stabbing the air with her finger. No cell phone pictures. Taking a photo in a locker room is against the law.

“I’m not taking a photo. I’m taking a call,” I say to her.

Sheesh. I wasn’t going to snap a shot of her for Instagram, and that’s not simply because I’m not a lawbreaker. She’s neither male nor reading a book. Those are the only stranger shots I take.

I motion to Amy that I’m on the phone, then I march back out into the hallway, speaking to Luna, “Kit Kat Klub. You’ve reached Sally Bowles. Please leave a message, and I will return your call at a not ungodly hour of the morning.”

Giggles float across the line like bubbles blown through the summer breeze. “Lo! You’re so funny. I love Cabaret.”

“Thank you. Please deposit fifty cents if you ever want this person to answer a call again,” I say, because even though I’m wide awake, it isn’t even seven. Calling at this hour should be illegal.

More laughter spills through the phone. “How do you do that? You’re so fun at nine thirty in the morning,” Luna says, her words gliding out like a song. I’m convinced she’s a nightingale reincarnated.

She also lacks the ability to understand little things like, say, time zones.

“Luna, it’s not even nine thirty where you are. You’re seven hours ahead. It’s . . .” I pull the phone from my ear to check the time in Athens, considering whether I can craft a voodoo doll of the phone because I can’t make one of Luna. And I’ve tried, dear God have I ever tried. “It’s one thirty where you are, and it’s six thirty in New York. That’s ungodly. This is a time reserved for vampires, ghosts, goblins, zombies, and New Yorkers who’ve adopted new workout routines and are trying to stick to them.”

She gasps—such a shuddery little thing, my sister. “Lo, don’t talk about zombies and vampires. You know I can’t handle scary things. I didn’t get your horror-loving genes. Or your morning workout drive either. But you’re awake. Yay,” she says, clapping. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“You thought I’d be asleep, but you called anyway?” Though the question doesn’t really matter. Luna does what Luna wants. I focus on the mission-critical issues. “Are you dying, sick, in jail, in trouble, drugged, or being held captive by an alien billionaire?”

“No, God no,” she says. “Those all sound horrible, even the billionaire. Besides, who needs money when you can have love instead?”

“Who said alien billionaires were incapable of love?”

“I’ve always thought they were.”

“No. Studies have shown some species of alien billionaires have hearts,” I deadpan as I stop at the water fountain for a drink. When I finish, I say, “And since you’re not in custody, in a billionaire’s chamber, or dead, I have to ask—is Rowan dead? I’m guessing no, because if Rowan were dead, I don’t think you’d sound so happy, despite the dream you had the other night.”

“Just because we had a fight before we left for the cruise doesn’t mean I want him dead. I like him alive, and that’s how he is right now—alive and happy next to me because we made up. I can’t believe I was ever mad at him because of that silly dream. I mean, he’d never cheat in real life. But still, the dream hurt.”

“Of course dream-cheating hurts,” I say as sympathetically as I can, since everything hurts Luna. For all twenty-five years of her life, she’s worn her heart on her sleeve.

“I’m calling for another reason,” Luna says, resetting to her default cheeriness. “But don’t be mad . . .”

I grit my teeth.

Oh, God. Those words would signal danger ahead for anyone, but for Luna it’s more like a hurricane alert.

I lean against the cinder block of the gym hallway. “Okay, what is it this time? Because I’m not going to break you out of science summer camp again.”

“But that was the best! Seeing all the museums in New York with you instead of making silly science fair projects—it changed my life,” she says with a happy sigh. “Mom and Dad still don’t know that you took me on the best field trips ever that week when they were gone.”

“Not that they’d care,” I say.

“Of course they’d care. That’s why we kept it a secret.”

No, they wouldn’t. That’s why I care. That’s why I look out for you.

I have zero regrets about the camp breakout, on account of Luna’s