Chapter Thirteen
“He did what?”
Becky looked around to make sure nobody’d heard. But of course they’d heard. Dakota was shouting.
“Shh. You heard me,” she whispered.
“I think I heard you. Did you say that he went—”
Becky slapped a hand over her best friend’s mouth. “Yes.”
“In the library?” Dakota whispered.
“Yes.” Becky thought her head might have caught on fire. But, no. She was just blushing.
“Holy shit.” Dakota fanned herself. “I think I love this guy.”
Ha, love. Now they were on safe ground. “Well, I don’t, so don’t you worry about me.”
Dakota gave her a puzzled look. “Are you sure?”
“That I don’t love him? Absolutely.”
“No, that I shouldn’t worry about you. I mean, are you unwell? What year is this?”
“Shut up. What do you mean?”
“I mean, here’s a guy who moved back to town to take care of his younger sister, who rescues decrepit dogs—”
“Starr is not decrepit!”
“She was. And who, in the absence of an appropriate prophylactic solution, goes down on you on a library table.”
“Stop making it sound like a big deal!”
Dakota raised her eyebrow. “It wasn’t a big deal? How many times did you come?”
“Dakota!”
“Well?”
Becky stuck her head into the menu. “Three,” she whispered.
“Three!” And Dakota was shouting again. “You know, I think I hate you.”
* * *
“What’s up your butt?”
Foster was really starting to reconsider this whole spending-quality-time-with-his-sister thing. For starters, she was always showing up unannounced. (Not totally unannounced. Whenever she left the house, his mother called to tell him she was on her way and to text her when she got there so she knew Madison wasn’t sneaking off with her inappropriate—his mother’s word—friends.) But then Maddie had to cap it off by being way too perceptive for a teenager.
“There’s nothing up my butt, squirt.” Because he definitely wasn’t going to tell his sixteen-year-old sister about his uncontrollable physical attraction to Becky. Especially not in the middle of a hiking trail.
Well, anywhere, really. But definitely not on a trail.
“You look like Dad.”
Starr stopped to smell more grass. He wondered if this grass smelled any different from the fourteen other patches of grass she’d stopped to sniff.
“Wait a minute, what do you mean I look like Dad?”
“He’s always got that pissy work face.”
“Pissy work face?”
“That’s it. You’re doing it now. It’s the face he makes whenever he’s home but wishes he was back at the office doing . . . I don’t know, doing lawyer things.”
Foster tried very hard not to think about the last time he was at the office. Because the last time he was at the office, he was in the library and Becky came in and . . .
Nope. Not thinking about it.
He tugged on Starr’s leash and she started walking ahead of them. Then she must have picked up a scent, because she was off on another grassy detour.
“I’m not thinking about work,” he assured his sister, which was true. But also because he wanted to reassure Madison that he was here for her and not half in the office, the way their father always was.
So he should probably get here with her.
“I don’t see what’s so great about being a lawyer anyway. You guys are always stressed and working crazy hours, but I have no idea what you actually do all day.”
“Well, we have clients who need us to defend their rights.”
“Yeah, like you’re such a superhero.”
“To our clients we are. When we win. And a Deacon always wins.”
“Gag.”
“That was a joke.”
“You still sounded like Dad when you said it.”
An . . . uncomfortable truth.
“I just don’t get what’s so important that you have to kill yourself over your job. It’s not like you’re a doctor or, like, saving the world or whatever.”
“I think my work is valuable.”
“And your clients do.”
“Sure.”
“That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”
“Hey, all this genius ain’t cheap.”
She rolled her eyes. “So, basically, you’re trading your life for money.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, yeah, I make a lot of money . . .”
“But you have no life. All you do is work until midnight, and the only reason you don’t work on the weekends is because I’ve guilt-tripped you out of it. I mean, do you even hang out with anyone besides me?”
“Of course I do,” he scoffed, because of course he did. There was Rick—they’d talked about getting a beer one night. When they both weren’t working late. And Bullhorn, whom he hadn’t seen since the night he met Becky.
And Becky. He saw a lot of Becky.
Mostly that was at work.
He definitely wasn’t going to tell Madison about that.
“Starr. I spend a lot of time with Starr.”
Madison snorted. Starr just sat in the middle of the trail and stared at them. “I love it when I’m right.”
“You’re not . . . fine, you’re right.”
“I just think you either need to save the world or work less.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
“And get a girlfriend.”
Great. Now his sister wanted him to settle down.
“Seriously. When was the last time you had a girlfriend?”
“Um, I’ve had plenty of girlfriends. But I lived in New York, so you didn’t meet them.”
“Wait, you’re not working too hard because you don’t want to admit you’re gay, are you?”
He furrowed his brow at her. What did his work have to do with his sexuality?
“I mean, like, you’re not hiding in your work or whatever? Like you’re using all of this work time so you don’t have to explain your secret sex life.”
“Oh. No. I’m not doing that.”
“If you were, that would be OK. If you were gay, I mean.”
“Thanks.”
“Lots of people are gay.”
“I know.”
“It’s not like it was way back in your day.”
“Way back in my day? I’m going to let that slide. Anyway, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not gay.”
She shrugged. “Just checking.”
“Did Mom put you up to that?”
“Psh. Like I’m going to suddenly start doing what Mom tells me.”
“Can’t you just try to get along with her?”
“What about Becky?”
If Deacon was drinking a bottle of water, he would have done a spit take.
“What about Becky?”
“Why don’t you date her?”
I’d like to, he wanted to tell Madison, but he still had some pride left.
“Why is your dog staring at us?”
“Come on, Starr,” he said and tugged on her leash. She walked one step, then sat down again.
“You need to accept the fact that Starr isn’t a hiking dog,” Madison said. “I don’t know why you thought she would be. She’s tiny. And look at those perfect, tiny little legs?”
“She did all right at first.”
Except now she was sitting in the middle of the trail, staring at him. That Starr stare that he was starting to know so well. The one that said, I want something from you, and the fact that you aren’t giving it to me fills me with contempt and disappointment.
He had a lot of experience with looks like that.
Finally, Foster just picked her up. She immediately nestled her little ten-pound body into him and rested her chin on his shoulder.
“Is this what you wanted the whole time?”
Starr didn’t say anything, just let out a little old lady dog sigh.
“What a mush baby you are,” said Madison and hiked on ahead. Foster followed behind, carrying his dog.
“Oh, speaking of dates. Mom’s going to try to get you a date for Thanksgiving.”
Ugh. Another reminder of why he was always so busy with work around this time of year. If he was busy, he couldn’t get home from New York for Thanksgiving dinner.
“Apparently because you’ve been back in town, all the sad daughters of her sad friends have been trying to get their hands on you.”
“Ugh.”
“Thanksgiving’s not that far away.”
“I know.”
“If you found your own date, you wouldn’t have to use one of Mom’s.”
“Starr, will you be my Thanksgiving date?”
Starr licked his cheek.
Madison was right. No matter how many bottles of their favorite wine he brought, if he didn’t bring a woman home for her to judge, his mother wouldn’t be happy. And if she thought he wasn’t bringing a woman for her to judge, she’d bring one of her own.
He needed to bring a date. He scanned through his list of friends. Why wasn’t he friends with any women? Why didn’t his male friends have sisters he could cajole into being his date? Most of them would be going to their own family Thanksgivings. Maybe he could pay one of the interns to go with him. Would that be a conflict of interest? Ugh, just thinking about it felt wrong.
He shook his head. No. Clearly, no. He couldn’t hire a date for Thanksgiving. That would be a new low.
Although seeing the look on his mother’s face might be worth it.
No. No. He could do this. He could find someone who didn’t have her own family obligations. It would have to be someone who could reasonably pass as his girlfriend. Ugh, and she would really be put through the ringer by his mother. It would have to be someone who owed him a major favor.
Becky.
“You owe me,” he’d told her when he’d toted Starr home from the shelter. She’d smiled. She’d agreed.
But would she be available?
She owed him a favor. She’d make herself available.