My sister nods approvingly. “This is nice. You were always meant to live in a house like this.”

“Who isn’t?” I shoot back. Everyone should be so lucky.

Although it still feels wrong being here. I care a lot about Cole, though, and I’d rather be with him than at my dad’s.

I finish up the burgers, while she turns around, gripping the counter at her sides and stares at me. “You sure all he wants is a little cleaning and cooking?” she presses. “Men, no matter the age, are all the same. I should know.”

Yeah, you can shut up now. I can take care of myself. If high school boyfriends and working in a bar haven’t taught me that by now…

But she speaks up again, moving into my space and stopping me. “Just listen to me for a second.” Her tone turns firm. “It’s a nice house, a safe neighborhood, and yes, you can save up a little money. But you don’t have to stay here.”

“It’s not Dad and Corinne’s, so there’s that,” I argue back. “And I can’t stay with you. I appreciate the offer, but I can’t be on the couch in everyone’s way and be able to study with a four-year-old trying to be a kid in his own house.”

I have a summer class on Thursdays, so I need some space to work.

“That’s not what I meant,” she quickly retorts. “You could’ve stayed in that apartment. You could’ve afforded it.”

I open my mouth but shut it again, turning around to slip the burgers into the oven for a few minutes.

Not this again. When is she going to give it up?

“I can’t, okay?” I tell her. “I don’t want to. I like my job, and I don’t to work where you work.”

“Of course, you don’t.” She gives me a bored look. “It’s beneath you, right?”

“That’s not what I said.”

I don’t think less of my sister because of her job. She feeds and clothes her kid. She swallowed her pride and did what she had to do, and I love her for it. But—and I would never say this to her face—it’s not a career she would’ve picked for herself if she’d had other choices.

And I’m not out of choices yet.

Cam has been dancing at The Hook since she was eighteen. At first, it was just a temporary job to get through her boyfriend leaving her and to support their son. But juggling college and her child became too much, and eventually, she quit school. It was the plan to get back on track once Killian started kindergarten, but that’ll be soon, and I don’t think she has immediate plans to quit anytime soon. She’s gotten used to the money.

And nearly a year ago, her boss offered me a job bartending there, and she’s been on my ass to take it ever since. I could make more than enough to support myself, after all, and maybe not have to take out so many student loans, either. A few years and that’s it, she’d said. I’d be out.

But I know bartending is just the job her boss gets girls to take while he works them over to get them to start dancing on stage.

And I’m not doing that. I’m not watching my sister do that every night, either.

My body is private. It’s personal to me and whom I want to show it to. I’ll stay at Grounders, thank you.

“I’m fine where I am,” I tell her. “I got this.”

She sighs. “Alright,” she says, giving up for now. “Just be prepared if this doesn’t work out, okay?”

This, meaning Cole and me living in his father’s house.

I move around her to pull some lemonade out of the fridge and suddenly hear the low rumble of an engine growing closer. I stop, peering toward the window, and see the corner of a black truck pull into the driveway. The same ’71 Chevy Cheyenne I rode in after the movie the other night to get Cole at the police station.

My heart thumps in my chest, but I ignore it and quickly close the fridge.

“His father’s home,” I tell her, grabbing her purse on the counter and shoving it at her. “You need to go.”

“Why?”

“Because this isn’t my house,” I bite out, pushing her toward the laundry room and the back door. “At least let me wait a week before I impose on his space with all my friends.”

“I’m your sister.”

I hear a car door slam.

I keep pushing her out toward the back, but she’s digging in her heels. “And you better keep me posted,” she says. “I’m not letting you let some beer-bellied, middle-aged pervert who was only too happy to let a hot pair of teenage thighs move into his house start demanding a little extra from his new tenant.”

“Shut up.” But I can’t help laughing a little.

Yeah, he’s not beer-bellied, middle-aged, or a pervert. I don’t think, anyway.

She turns around, jabbing me in the stomach playfully and lowering her voice to a deep, husky tone. “Come on, honey.” She squirms up to me, trying to wrap her arms around me seductively. “Time to work off your rent, baby.”

“Shut up!” I whisper-yell, laughing and trying to nudge her out of the kitchen. “God, you’re embarrassing. Get out!”

“Don’t be scared,” she continues, pretending she’s some creepy old guy as she slobbers up her lips and tries to get a kiss from me. “Little girls take care of their daddies.”

And she mock thrusts into me, jutting out what beer belly she can muster with her twenty-two-inch waist.

“Stop it!” I plead, flaming with embarrassment.

She paws me up and down my hips, smiling as I try to shove her out of the kitchen.

But then she stops suddenly, her face falling and her eyes focused on something—or someone—behind me.

I close my eyes for a moment. Great.

Turning around, I see Cole’s father standing in the entryway between the living room and the kitchen, paused and staring at us. Heat rises up my neck at the sight of him again.

I hear my sister suck in a breath, and I move away from her, clearing my throat. I don’t think he heard anything. At least, I hope not.

His eyes dart between us and finally come to rest on me. His short hair is just a little messy, and I can see the sweat from his workday still dampening the sides, and the five-o’clock shadow coming in across his jaw. Black marks scuff his forearms, and the tendons in his tanned hands flex as he grips his tool belt and lunch container.

He inhales a deep breath and moves forward, setting his things on the island. “All moved in?” he asks me, running a hand through his hair.

I nod. “Yeah,” I blurt out. “I mean, yes.”

My heart is doing that thing again where it feels like it’s riding on ocean waves inside my chest, and I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing. So I just nod again, blinking until my sister comes into view at my side and I finally remember what’s going on.

“Pike. Mr. Lawson,” I correct myself, “Sorry. This is my sister, Cam.” I gesture to her. “And she was just leaving.”

He glances over at her. “Hi.”

And then to my surprise, his gaze moves back to me for a moment before he sees the mail on the counter and begins flipping through it like we’re not even here.

I blink, slightly confused.

Cam’s a carnival ride. She might be younger than him, but she’s certainly a woman, and most men let their eyes linger on her, her long legs, and the perky and expensive handfuls she has under that tank top. He doesn’t.

“Yeah, nice to meet you,” she says back. “Thanks for taking her in.”

He spares us a quick glance and half-smile before taking all the envelopes and stuffing them in a mail holder.

Cam starts to walk out of the kitchen, and I follow her as she enters the laundry room.

Once she’s out of his line-of-sight, she spins around, mouthing to me “Oh, my God” with a mischievous gleam in her wide eyes.

I clench my jaw, jerking my chin to keep her moving. She’s going to be over here every other day flirting with him now.

I hear Pike behind me, opening one of the ovens, and I turn around.

“I was making dinner,” I tell him. “For the three of us. Is that okay?”

He closes the oven, and I see a hint of relief on his face. “Yeah, that’s great, actually.” He sighs. “Thank you. I’m starving.”

“It’ll just be fifteen more minutes.”

He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a Corona, sticking the cap under an opener nailed under the island and pulls the top off, the cap dropping into the trash. “Enough time for a shower,” he replies, glancing down at us. “Excuse me.”

And then he walks out of the kitchen, the bottle hanging from his fingers as he clears the entryway by only half a foot. I pause, it hitting me how tall he is again. This is a good size house, too, but it will be impossible to not notice him in a room.

“Now I get it,” my sister whispers a taunt in my ear. “And here I was, worried you’d be suffering unwanted advances from a sweaty, old, fat fart.”

“Shut up.” I close my eyes in exasperation.

I hear the back door open and humor laces her voice as she teases, “You take care of your men now.”

I whirl around to slam the door closed in her face, but she squeals, pulling it shut before I have a chance.

“Oh, I don’t like onions.”

I stop at Pike’s words and stare down at the barbeque sauce drizzled all over my onion ring-stacked masterpieces. They’re an Instagram post just waiting to happen. If I take off the beautiful, golden onions it’ll just be a Pinterest fail.

“Try a bite?” I venture, with a timid smile. “You’ll like this. I promise.”

In my experience, men will eat what’s in front of them.

He seems to think about it for a moment and then closes the fridge and meets my gaze. His expression softens. “Okay.”

He probably feels like he owes me a bite, since I made dinner, so I’ll take it. Topping the burger, I hand him the plate, and he carries it over to a stool, taking a bite before he even sits down. I spare a glance over my shoulder. His jaw stops moving, and he blinks a few times, the muscles in his cheeks flexing. And then I hear a groan.