Good To Be Bad (Good Love #3) - Lili Valente Page 0,49

the first sip of a perfectly cream-and-honeyed cup of Lapsang souchong, a tempting treat that makes me eager for more.

“Not to mention that she’s insanely gorgeous,” Graham says, taking a sip of his tea.

I look up fast. “What? You saw her? When? When we were leaving the party?”

“No, outside. Maybe twenty minutes ago.” He motions toward the street. “She and Abby were chatting on the corner by the shoe store before I came in. They looked friendly.”

I jump to my feet then immediately sit back down. “I can’t force my sister to tell me everything Gigi said to her and then announce I’m dropping out of the competition. That would be madness.”

Graham chuckles. “Maybe not madness, but very middle school.”

I drag a hand through my hair, fighting temptation for another hot second before I say, “Be right back,” and bolt through the door into the shop, across the indoor seating area, and behind the counter.

There, Abby is ringing up a man in a pork pie hat that instantly makes me think of Gigi—the woman has invaded every damn corner of my mind. And I love it. I truly do.

I force myself to let Abby finish the transaction. But the man has scarcely turned away before I’m beside her, demanding, “Gigi. What did she say to you? Tell me everything.”

Abby grins up at me and winks. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I love you dearly. So don’t make me strangle it out of you. I’d like to move forward without marring our sibling bond.”

She giggles and reaches beneath the counter, pulling out a small wooden jewelry box. “She just wanted to welcome me to the neighborhood. She gave me a gift certificate for the super cute shoe store on the corner and this. For you.”

I take the box reverently. “For me?”

“Yeah, open it,” she says, making shooing motions with her hands. “I’m dying of curiosity. She was so cute when she handed it over.”

“Cute?” I turn the box over, but nothing shifts inside. “In what way? Aside from the obvious, of course.”

“A little shy, a little flushed.” Abby bobs her brows as she adds in a singsong, “I think someone might have a crush on my big brother.”

“No, she doesn’t,” I say in a tone that gives away how much I’d like for that—and something much more serious than that—to be true.

A tone that doesn’t escape my sister’s notice.

“Aw, and you have a crush, too! Perfect. You’re going to make delicious babies together.” She sighs happily. “Just stunning little creatures. No doubt in my mind. I’m excited already. I call dibs on hosting the first baby shower. You should have three. Or four. Babies, not showers.”

Before I can tell her to stop being ridiculous and give me the goods already, a woman pushes through the front door and steps up to the counter. “Do you still have raspberry scones? I tried some of my girlfriend’s after yoga, and I’m dying for at least six more.”

While Abby makes our customer’s scone dreams come true, I open my present, creaking open the lid to reveal a fine pair of cufflinks. They’re small and a bit tarnished—must be antique—and in the shape of tiny teacups complete with a teabag string dangling down the side. A note folded into the top of the box reads—The scared part of me said not to buy these or to let you know how often you’re on my mind. But the hopeful part said these were made for you and you simply must wear them to the competition today. And that it’s okay to let you know that I think of you warmly and fondly…and often with wet panties. ;) Good luck today. You’re going to need it, boyfriend! xo–Gigi

“Damn,” I mutter, my throat tight and my chest…warm.

Very warm.

I’m in deep fucking trouble.

I don’t want to compete with this woman. I want to cheer her on and buy her a beautiful meal to celebrate her victory. And maybe some really expensive jewelry because she’d be stunning in a sapphire necklace the same color as her eyes.

And nothing else.

“I’m going to break your heart,” I tell Abby as she returns to my side, trusting the knot in my gut that says this competition isn’t for me. Not anymore. “I’m so sorry.”

Abby leans against the counter and props a hand on her fist. “Okay, break away.”

“I’m serious,” I insist.

She laughs. “No, you’re not. You would never, could never break my heart. You’re my big brother, the best person I know, and secretly