Twins For My Bestie’s Brother (Billionaire Daddies)

9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Lily

“ O kay, tell us everything.”

We’re at the kitchen table, the usual spot for a Bolton family post-mortem. Mom and Dad have stayed up, their curiosity getting the better of their exhaustion. And to my delight, she baked a fresh batch of cookies which are still warm when I sit down.

“Well, you’ll never guess who was there,” I say, picking up a gooey chocolate chip cookie.

“I don’t care about who was there,” Mom scoffs. “I want to know how things went with Jackson.”

My heart hasn’t stopped beating since . . . since the dance floor really. I’ll pass out eventually from all the excitement. Given how news travels in this town, I’m not sure I can keep it a secret from my parents very long. I’ll be honest. But later. “I promise, you’ll care about this person.”

Mom and Dad exchange a look across the table.

“Will,” I say, then bite the cookie.

Mom puts her hand over her mouth. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. He’s apparently staying in town for a month. To get me back.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dad grumbles.

“ Darryl .”

“No, I’m tired of being nice about the whole situation. He needs to leave you alone, and if he doesn’t—”

I smile. “You’ll prescribe him to death?”

My dad tries his best to be the ‘what-are-your-intentions-with-my-daughter’ type but fails at the execution considering the fact he’s a spindly pharmacist with an astigmatism. “I don’t want you with him, Lily,” he orders. “I’m a pretty easygoing guy—”

“As evidenced by all my tattoos,” I say.

“But he’s bad news. I should have seen it back in the day, but—”

I roll my eyes. “Dad, that’s ridiculous. No one could have known he’d be . . . ” I shake my head. I don’t want to get into it.

“I should have. I’m your dad. I know how men work, and he’s no different. And if he thinks he can walk into the drugstore without having to deal with me, he has another thing—”

Mom grabs the plate of cookies and shoves it in his face. “Eat something, you’re getting cranky.”

Dad glares. “I’m not cranky, I’m . . . ” He resignedly takes a cookie and shoves it in his mouth.

“I mean, doesn’t he realize it’s not very romantic that he can be here for a month to get you back because he’s unemployed? Will isn’t a very good thinker,” my mother says.

I laugh. “I didn’t think about that. But yeah. It’s embarrassing for him.”

“So, you talked with him?” Mom asks nervously.

“Yeah, he made it kind of impossible not to, but . . . ” I trail off. “Jackson was really good about it.”

Mom smiles. “Of course he was.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Mom.”

“I’m just saying.”

I grab another cookie and let the silence fall. “We’re going to keep pretending.”

Mom claps her hands. “That’s great, that means there’s more opportunity to—”

“It’s just to get Will to back off. That’s all.” I take a bite of my cookie.

“But people were buying it,” Dad says, dusting the crumbs off his hands. “You wouldn’t keep doing it if people weren’t buying it.”

I shrug. “Yeah, I guess they did. Tia was so annoyed. So, we accomplished what we set out to do.”

“And then some, I bet,” Mom mutters.

“Mom. Jackson is Kayla’s brother.”

“So? That doesn’t mean anything.”

I shake my head. “Of course it does.”

Mom tips her chin up. “What does it mean, then? Has Kayla ever said you two shouldn’t date?”

“I don’t think it ever crossed her mind. Which would mean it would take her totally off guard if we—“ I stop midsentence. “And it’s just a friend helping a friend! There isn’t even anything romantic going on. Like sure, we’re going to go on fake dates and show up to things together to throw people off the scent. And, yes, we might hold hands or kiss from time to time, but—”

Mom squeals. “You kissed him!”

“Okay.” I push myself from the table. “Goodnight. I’m tired.”

“But you kissed ?”

My father thankfully waves my mother off. “Long night, Sue. Give her some space.”

“Fine, fine. We can talk about it in the morning,” my mom says with a pointed look at me.

They might be annoying and a little bit meddlesome, but they’re my parents. And I love them. They’ve always wanted what’s best for me. Always trusted my judgment. Even when they shouldn’t have, maybe. I grab one more cookie before I head upstairs. “Thanks for the cookies.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Mom calls out.

I remember Jackson calling me sweetheart. My cheeks get hot. “Good night.”

Upstairs, I get ready for bed. I take off my earrings, remove the bobby pins from my hair, and wipe off the remains of my makeup. I change into a big T-shirt and sleep shorts, leaving my dress in a puddle on the floor. Ready for bed, I sigh heavily and give myself a once-over in the mirror on the back of the door.

Would Jackson say I’m beautiful if he saw this version of me? No makeup. No pretty dress. Just . . . Lily?

I run my fingers through my curls. They stick up in all directions once I’m done.

Staring in the mirror isn’t getting me anywhere. It’s making everything worse. So I climb into bed and start doing the notorious before-bed scroll through Instagram. Checking up on all the artists I know back in Seattle or artists I admire.

I’m queasy with jealousy. I just want to tattoo again. Make myself useful. Not to the world. But to myself. All I am right now is the Lily I always was.

A text comes through.

From Jackson.

I tap to look at it.

I can help you with the business side of things. If you want. No pressure.

I stare at the text for a few minutes trying to figure out what to say. Nothing comes to me.

But another text comes through.

I want to help .

I turn off the screen. I should say yes. I mean, he’s got all the business expertise in the world. I’m sure not to fail with Jackson on my side.

I flop onto my back. It’s too much to ask for. We’re already pretending to be in a relationship, for fuck’s sake. One thing at a time.

Although the way things went in the car . . . that wasn’t one thing at a time.

I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, but sleep doesn’t come. I push myself up out of bed and go to the metal box sitting next to my suitcase that I haven’t unpacked in all the time I’ve been back in Cider Bay.

I flip it open, revealing my tattoo gun and all my equipment.

Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, the only choice I have is to work. I don’t have spreadsheets or documents or anything I can pull up to take my mind off things. Sometimes sketching does the trick.

But sometimes the only thing I can do is this.

I clean off a patch of skin on the inside of my left thigh. It’s become my weird, messy canvas for all the times I’ve wanted to fuck around and find out.

I turn on the gun and press it against my skin. I’m used to the feeling, the cat scratch-like pain. It dulls after a while, but the first one always tries to make me jump.

There on the inside of my thigh, I write two words that have been circling the drain of my mind since getting out of Jackson’s car.

‘ and whatever’

Looks nice amongst all the other little splotches of experiments.

Life right now. It’s ‘ and whatever .’

Who knows what’s going to come next? With Jackson. With my job.

At the very least, I know it’s not going to be the same cycle of pain that each and every day became with Will.

So, I might not know what comes next.

And . . . whatever.

That’s just fine. In fact, if the ‘ and whatever ’ is anything like what happened in the car, I think I’m going to like what comes next.