I straighten up and shoot Vivica a questioning look.
Vivica smiles while Veronica hugs Bailey. Vivica is smiling at me. Veronica lets go of Bailey and shoots me a wink and athumbs up.
I rear back. What’s that about?
Erica gives Bailey a long hug.
Bailey strokes Erica’s long, red curls. “You guys are the bestest almost-cousins ever.” Bailey wipes her eyes with her fingers. “No cry faces!”
Erica replies, “We’re not crying, girlfriend.”
Bailey’s wiping more tears from her eyes. “Nope. No cry face here!”
Erica smiles. “We’ll see you the day after tomorrow, yeah? Your parents’ sunroom at five thirty.”
Bailey suddenly looks alarmed. “What if.. what if…”
“Shh. We’ll figure it out. Okay?”
Bailey nods, chin trembling, looking close to coming undone.
I stare at the scene, powerless to do anything about it but watch, which is a feeling I fucking hate.
Bailey lifts her bag from the table and loops it over her head so she’s wearing it diagonally while she tries to get into her heeled shoes, but she staggers a little trying to find balance.
I growl. Why the fuck did she wear shoes with heels this high?
Her eyes hit me as I jolt, fighting the urge to catch her if she falls, frustrated I can’t just scoop her up and carry her.
Our eyes connect and I smell arousal. My growl did that. I should use that to my advantage.
As if reading my mind, she quickly turns away, calling, “Roxy!” She abandons her shoes and rushes to the bar to hug Roxy.
I squat and pick her shoes up, because there’s no way she’s wearing these right now. She’ll bust an ankle or fall flat on her ass.
Erica says, “Gold star.”
“Huh?” I look at her.
“You didn’t barge in here, shoot first, and ask questions later. It’ll count, believe me.”
“Count?”
“When she weighs it all out.”
I scoff. “If I didn’t know better, I might think you’re on my side.”
“I am,” she says.
“You’re on Bailey’s side,” I correct.
She shakes her head. “I’m on both your sides. All five of us are on your side. Including Dani. They’re just two different sides of the same coin at the moment. Same end goal.”
I’m in no mood for riddles, but based on the expectant look on her face, I ask, “And what goal is that?”
“Happiness.” She shrugs. “Livin’ the dream.”
A stench hits my nose. Male sweat. Fuck. They’ve started shit outside. It’s probably either arm wrestling, push-up competitions, or actual wrestling.