It was all true. Lex was gorgeous. She wasn’t so much of a sister to me that I hadn’t noticed that over the years. She was just…Lex.
It had been a while since my late-night call from Rebecca Florence. Salon gossip aside, maybe it was time I utilized her phone number and gave her a booty call for a change. For fuck’s sake, something had to change in my sex-crazed brain if I was daydreaming about Lex straddling my cock, out loud, while talking to fucking Lex.
Oh, did I forget to mention my cock was involved in that little Black Mirror version of my drunken fantasy too?
Fuck. My. Life.
When I got home from my run, I quickly packed a bag and rehearsed six different versions of an apology all to the gist of, “Sorry for mentally perving on you last night. Please accept this travel mug of coffee as a token of my sincerest apology.”
When she’d been late, something that was far from unusual for her, I’d worried she wasn’t going to show at all. With my luck, she was still dry-heaving over the toilet—and rightly so—after the garbage I’d spewed at her. Thankfully, the worst of it had happened in the confines of my own mind, and as soon as she got there, I was going to apologize and then seal that shit in a mental compartment labeled Naked Pictures of Grandma to be sure it never got opened again.
A loud rumble echoed off the houses on my sleepy cul-de-sac and my head jerked up just in time to see the most incredible cherry-red muscle car turn onto my street. A huge smile split my face when she stopped in front of my house and revved the engine. I was probably going to get no fewer than six letters from my homeowners association about the noise at six a.m. But this was nothing new when it came to her. For my thirtieth birthday, she’d paid to have three hundred (actual number) plastic pink flamingos decorate my lawn. Jack thought it was hilarious. My neighbors were slightly less enthusiastic.
Yes, it was ridiculous. This was what I had learned was something of a personal brand for Lex. And on that particular morning, sitting there in huge sunglasses, her arm hanging out of the open window, and a floral scarf tied around her head like Thelma—or maybe it was Louise—she looked every bit of the part.
Pushing her shades down to the end of her nose, she leaned over and shot me an evil grin through the window. “Need a ride?”
I gave her a smile and gathered my bag and our coffees. “I know Hank wasn’t a match, but did you decide to go ahead and bring me my winnings early?”
“Oh, please. You aren’t winning anything except the honor of carpeting Beep’s new bedroom.” She gave the engine another rev, more than likely doubling my HOA fine, before cutting it and swinging her door open. She marched directly over to me and plucked a to-go mug from my hands. “I decided to take pity on you and give you a little joyride as a consolation prize.” She tipped the coffee back and chugged it like water, punctuating the scene with a loud, satisfying, “Ahhhhh.”
“Starbucks closed?” I asked, popping the seat up and then shoving my overnight bag into the back through the open driver’s side door.
“I hit snooze too many times to stop. How the hell are you up so bright and early? After last night, I figured you’d look like the crypt keeper when I got here.”
“I don’t get hungover. It’s a gift.” I turned to face her. “Listen, um, about that shit I said last night.”
Her eyes flashed wide, but she immediately waved me off. “Oh, please. Don’t worry about that. You were drunk.”
“I still shouldn’t have said any of that—”
“Hudson, it’s not a big deal. Just forget about it.”
I studied her closely for several seconds. “You sure? Cause if you want to talk about it—”
“Relax, Dr. Phil. I said it’s fine. Now, come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”
I grinned, relief blazing through my veins. I’d at least expected her to give me shit before letting me off the hook, but this worked too. “Okay, then. I packed a few protein bars and some of those fruit snacks you steal from Jack all the time, but if you need to hit the bathroom, do it now. I’m not stopping for you to pee