Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 103170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 413(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Sienna: Shoot.
Eve: I want to buy your sister a wedding present, but I'm not sure where to start.
Sienna: You hang out a lot. You know her well.
Eve: Not as well as you do.
My fingers brush my phone case. It's almost like she's trying to smooth things over, but nothing needs smoothing.
Is my jealousy as obvious as Cam suggests? Or did he talk to her and suggest this?
No. I'm reading into things.
Cam and I are back to family friends.
Eve wants help with my sister's gift.
There are no ulterior motives.
Sienna: Do you have something in mind?
Eve: A friend of mine has an indie lingerie shop in Alphabet City. Or is that too much for Ty too?
Sienna: Kind of. But she'll like it.
Eve: I'm taking the afternoon off tomorrow to shop. How about I buy you dinner after?
Sienna: Make it coffee first and we have a deal.
Eve: Done.
Sienna: One at that shop around the corner from your place? The one with the New Orleans style cold brew.
Eve: It's a date.
Chapter Forty-Five
Sienna
Even though I arrive early, Eve beats me to the coffee shop. She's sitting at a table in the back, sipping a milky iced coffee, reading something on her Kindle.
She's in her usual punk rock badass getup—combat boots, short black dress, leather jacket—and her makeup and hair are on point.
But she doesn't look like an evil intellectual bitch stealing all my sister's attention.
She looks like a young woman who doesn't really care what other people think of her. Or at least one rebelling against what people expect her to do.
What with the short teal hair and the wine lips and the I'll kick your head in boots.
It's kind of cool, even if it's so incredibly extra. Or maybe because it is.
Her eyes light up as she spots me. She waves, slips her Kindle into her purse, slides off the seat.
She moves like a New Yorker, with quick steps and an innate understanding of her surroundings.
"Hey!" She offers me a hug. When I accept, she squeezes me tightly, motions to the line. "What are you having?"
In her lightly heeled boots, we're the same height, and we're about the same size, but we're built very differently.
I'm all shoulders and muscle. She's all hips and ass.
And she really has a lot of tattoos. Ian is obsessed with the quote from The Handmaid's Tale on her forearm. The first time, it was cute. After a hundred stares…
I usually roll my eyes. But it is cool. A Latin quote on a ribbon, surrounded by lush flowers.
nolite te bastardes carborundorum
Don't let the bastards grind you down. I've heard Ian tease her enough times to know that. And I'm literate enough I know the book is basically a feminist manifesto.
I always thought she was… I don't know, making a point, trying to make me feel less than.
But she's not. She's just trying to be her. And her tattoo really is gorgeous. And it's her too.
I'm almost jealous. She's so brave to face the needle that many times.
And she's so sure of who she is. Sure enough to mark her skin forever.
Usually, I feel confident, sure of myself, like I know exactly who I am and what I want.
Right now—
Fuck, I miss Cam.
"I have to warn you." Eve motions to her tattoo, to me staring at her tattoo. "If you ask about it, I might not be able to stop gushing."
"Huh?"
"The book. I'm sure I've gone off on it around you at some point. Ian is always baiting me."
Yes, he loves pushing her to talk about her favorite book. As a way to tease her. And because he loves to sit there, watching her talk, absorbing every ounce of her enthusiasm.
He really loves her. All of her.
They're kind of obnoxious sometimes with their constant making out, but I have to admit I'm in awe of the passion.
And totally not thinking about what it would be like if it was me and Cam. And what tattoo I would get that would get him teasing me every day.
Something about soccer. Or Ninety Day Fiancée (it's really a great show). Or my love of sugar.
Or a Blue Sapphire martini.
"Yeah," I say. "But I was thinking more about the needle. How much does it hurt?"
"You don't have any?"
"I never really wanted one."
"It's a needle on your skin. It hurts, but some spots worse than others." She turns over her arm. Shows off the EKG line on her wrist. "The lines closer to the palm were brutal, but the ones here"—she traces a flower on her forearm—"they're not so bad."
"Was that the most painful spot?"
"No. The ribs. Or maybe the hips." She draws a line on her hipbone, over her dress. "That was brutal."
"You have a tattoo there?"
"I have tattoos a lot of places."
"How did you get so many in such a short time?"
"A friend who started doing them when I was sixteen."