Staring down the barrel of family dinner night, I tried to think up a valid excuse to skip it. Again.

I’d been lucky so far, but there was nothing on my schedule I couldn’t get out of. Hell, there was nothing on my schedule, period. If I didn’t come up with an excuse fast, I’d be forced to sit across the dinner table from Victoria, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

It’d been a month since I’d last seen her, but I hadn’t forgotten a thing about the woman.

And it wasn’t like I hadn’t tried.

I’d even gone out on a blind date with my friend’s girlfriend’s cousin. Unfortunately, all that night had done was solidify that Victoria was the woman for me. I’d never met someone I’d felt so comfortable with. I’d also never met a woman I’d wanted to take to my bed—and keep there—more than Victoria. One throaty laugh out of her luscious mouth and I’d been instantly hard.

Which was my most immediate problem.

I wasn’t sure I could be near her and not imagine all the ways I wanted to make love to her. A boner at the dinner table wasn’t generally considered polite.

What to do? What to do?

Staring at the email from my dad that reminded me—yet again—about Sunday’s meal, my cursor hovered over the reply button. But in the second before I pressed the mouse down, my cell phone rang. I reached over and picked it up, checking to see who it was before answering. If it was my dad, that sucker was going straight to voicemail.

Thankfully, it wasn’t.

“Hey, Hank. What’s up?”

“Are you going to the talk Friday night?”

“Which one?” There were three on campus from our department alone.

“The one on the role of feminism in modern literature.” Hank snorted in disgust, but otherwise kept his commentary to a minimum. As if I didn’t already know how he felt about Professor Miranda Whitcomb and her lectures.

It wasn’t that Hank was a misogynist, but he and Miranda got on like oil and vinegar. They hated everything about one another. Unfortunately for Hank, the department had set up the program so that students were forced to take Miranda’s course in the fall, and then his in the spring semester. He spent the first two weeks of every January hearing students say, “But Professor Whitcomb said …” He’d once confessed it had taken every ounce of patience he possessed not to scream that he didn’t give one flying fuck what that stuck-up she devil had told them.  

Personally, I didn’t see what was so wrong with her, but that didn’t mean I was excited to go to her talk either. Unfortunately, I didn’t think I had a choice in the matter. The department head liked to see their professors supporting one another by attending as many lectures as possible. Since I’d skipped the last one in favor of spending the weekend on Dobber’s Island instead—drowning myself in memories of Victoria in my house—I didn’t have the luxury of missing Miranda’s. Inwardly, I tried to drum up some enthusiasm. It wasn’t a topic I was particularly interested in.

But then inspiration struck.

I happened to know someone who was interested in the role of feminism in modern literature.

A certain beautiful, smart, lovely someone I’d been avoiding.

Mentally, I catalogued all the reasons why the idea slowly forming in my stupid head was a bad one. Maybe I was simply looking for an excuse to see her without our parents and her brothers around, but in less than twenty seconds I managed to convince myself that if she went with me to the lecture, by the time we sat down opposite one another on Sunday, I could get through the meal without staring at her like the thing I’d rather be eating.

I leaned back in my chair and propped my feet up on my desk. “I was thinking of bringing a friend, actually.”

“Really?” Hank asked. “I didn’t think you and Greta hit it off last weekend.”

“We didn’t,” I answered. “I mean, she was perfectly lovely, but there wasn’t that spark—for either of us.”

“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to all our double dates.”

“No, you were looking forward to making me come along to all the places Gwen drags you that you don’t want to go.”

He laughed. “Guilty as charged. But if not Greta, who? Last I checked, you were single and ready to mingle. Did you manage to meet someone between Sunday and today?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s my dad’s new wife’s daughter.”

“You mean your stepsister?”

I made a point of never calling Victoria my stepsister. It made me feel less like a creeper to describe her as some random familial connection—like a third cousin twice removed—instead of someone I was bound to spend the upcoming holidays with.

I didn’t know how Victoria’s family did Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I’d once spent winter break with Hank’s family, and his sister had paraded around in threadbare flannel pants and a tight little tank top. When Hank had pointed out how inappropriate it was, she’d rolled her eyes and said, “What? We’re all family here,” before shoving a spoonful of Cheerios in her mouth.

I hoped to God if I had to spend Thanksgiving weekend with the Witherspoons that Victoria wore lots of thick, baggy sweatshirts.

I dropped my feet to the floor, and my chair sprang forward. “I’m trying not to think of her that way.”

“Oh shit, you’ve got the hots for your sister.”

I started to protest, but then stopped myself. I could lie, but Hank would see right through me. Instead, I stared out the window for a second, debating how best to answer. The view from my condo wasn’t much, but on the upside, it was cheap. I sometimes missed the house I’d lived in during grad school, but at least this place had room for all my stuff. Not like the shit-hole studio I’d moved into right after my divorce.

During those dark days, as I’d slept alone on my twin mattress silently stewing about the capriciousness of women, I’d told myself I was never going to fall in love again. But one night with Victoria and I was ready to put myself back out there. Yes, our parents were married, but it wasn’t like we’d grown up together or anything. There was nothing sordid about us being together.

In fact, how we got together was a cute story. Surely people would find it charming.

Only one way to find out ...

“Remember me telling you about the woman I met on the ferry last month?”

“No fucking way!”

“Yes, fucking way,” I said, pushing out of my chair and making my way across the room to my galley-style kitchen. Tugging open the fridge, I pulled out a can of beer and popped the tab. “And it was the single best night of my life.”

Hank chuckled. “That’s … I don’t know man. Is that weird?”

I blew out a breath. “At first I thought it was. Like you said, technically, she’s my stepsister. Our parents are married, and by all accounts, happily. But I met Victoria before they said their vows. And I swear to you, I didn’t have a clue who she was. The only thing I did know was that I couldn’t get enough of her. I haven’t felt that way about anyone, ever. Not even that viper I married.”

“Wow,” he said, drawing the word out. I could picture him rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“Yeah, wow.”

“What are you going to do?”

I took a deep pull on my beer, enjoying the juicy explosion of hops on my tongue. Some people didn’t like New England style IPAs, but they were my favorite.

“Long term, I don’t have a clue. In the short term, I think asking her to the lecture is a nice gesture. Aside from the fact that I enjoy spending time with her, I know it’s a topic she’ll be interested in. If it turns out the spark is still there, we can discuss how to handle it like two mature, consenting adults. Hell, for all I know, our night together was a fluke. Either way, I’ll know before I have to see her again this weekend.”

“Wait, you’re seeing her this weekend, too?”

I groaned. “Our parents have started hosting family dinner night every Sunday. I’ve skipped the last three.”

“Family dinner night? People still do those?”

I finished my beer and threw the can into the recycling bin. “Roni and my dad are determined to have all their kids act like one big happy family. If I hadn’t spent the night before their wedding with my face between her daughter’s legs, I wouldn’t see the harm in it. But since I did, I’ve been avoiding the entire spectacle. My dad’s pressuring me not to skip this one.”

“Why don’t you guys just come clean with everyone?”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“That you’re fucking your sister?” He could barely hold back his laughter.  

“Go to hell. First, I’m not fucking her anymore; and second, she’s not my sister.”

“I know,” he said, his laughter dying out. “I’m just giving you shit.” His tone sobered. “The way I see it, you aren’t related. You said it yourself. You’re two consenting adults. You’re not doing anything illegal.”

“No, not illegal. But it is weird, right?”

“Only if you make it weird.”

“So, I should bring her to the lecture then?” God only knew why I was asking for Hank’s advice. He was terrible with women, his current girlfriend included.

Hank laughed again. “Dude, I think you already decided you’re going to, and nothing I, or anyone else, says matters. You want to see her again, and this is the perfect reason to do so. And like you said, maybe it turns out she’s not as hot as you remember.”

“Yeah, maybe …”

Even as I agreed it was possible, I knew deep in my gut that she would be. No matter how many times I’d tried to forget her, when I closed my eyes at night, I saw Victoria’s face. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, but it wasn’t just about her looks. I adored her personality, too, and the way her mind worked. She was the perfect package. One I wanted to spend the rest of my life unwrapping … over, and over, and over again.

Now, all I had to do was convince her that being with me wasn’t wrong.

“Thanks for the talk, man. I’m going to give her a call.”

“Anytime, and good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said again as I hung up, striding back to my desk where I went in search of the email Roni had sent for that first dinner almost a month before.  

Copying Victoria’s email address from the list of recipients, I started a new message. After several false starts, I finally came up with something that was short and to the point. A message I hoped wouldn’t scare her off. I went back and forth several times on how to sign off, but in the end, I simply put a dash and my name. Reading over the message one final time to make sure there weren’t any typos, I hit send.

I pushed back from my desk, intending to throw on some workout clothes and head out for a run, when a bing alerted me to an incoming message. I hadn’t expected an immediate reply, but as I rolled my chair back over, my heart raced with anticipation. When I saw the message was from my dad wanting an answer about Sunday, I barely suppressed a groan.

Yes, I’ll be there, I typed and hit send. This time, when my screen jumped back to my inbox, I saw Victoria had responded.

And it was music to my ears.

Sounds fun. Meet you there?

My fingers flew over the keyboard as I gave her directions to the hall where the lecture would take place. Once the message was sent, I shut down my monitor.

Now I really did need that run. Because in less than forty-eight hours, I was going to see her again, and just the idea of it had adrenaline coursing hot and thick through my veins.

It was going to be a long two days.