I laugh at that. “And you call me slick.”

She grins, unrepentant. “Hey, he conceded defeat and brought me donuts. Said he could respect my determination to win at all costs.”

And so it goes, talking and eating and having more fun than I’ve had in as long as I can remember. Whenever I grow too silent, Fi pulls me into the conversation, sometimes by touching my elbow and looking my way to ask my opinion. Sometimes by saying something so outrageous, I can’t help but comment.

And I have the strange sensation of something deep inside me clicking into place, as though I’m becoming the person I was meant to be. It’s both a relief and kind of unnerving.

Sitting next to Fi, close enough to catch the fragrant scent of her hair, feel the brush of her arm against mine whenever she turns to say something to Gray who’s on her other side, settles me and makes me crave more.

I want the right to put my arm across the back of her chair the way Gray does with his wife. To lean in and kiss her smiling lips whenever she says something cute, which is pretty much all the time.

We end up going to a bar, and it’s karaoke night. Which means it’s crammed full of slightly drunk and extremely exuberant off-key singers. We’ve managed to get a table up front and center. I’m thinking it’s because the owner is a huge football fan; I’m pretty sure the table was occupied when we walked in.

But the hostess insists we sit here and hurries off to get us drinks.

“Excellent,” says Gray, rubbing his hands together, a gleam in his eye. “The last person to sing gets to buy the drinks.”

Ivy grins wide. “You’re on, Cupcake. I’m going to sing the house down.”

We all pause, our gazes darting back and forth as a certain sense of terror falls over the table.

Ivy sees us and slaps her palm onto the table. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I know what you twats are thinking! If I suck at dancing, I’ll suck at singing? Well, I don’t. I’m awesome.”

Awkward silence ensues, and she snorts.

“What? You think I don’t know I suck at dancing? I just don’t give a shit.” She glares at Gray, though there really isn’t any anger in the look. “So you can stop dancing like an ass now.”

A strangled sound leaves him. “You knew?”

“Of course.” She tosses a lock of her hair over her shoulder. “You’re too coordinated on the field, and you kind of forget to suck when you do those victory dances.”

He gapes at her for a long second, then gives a bark of laughter. “I fucking love you, Special Sauce.” With that, he hauls Ivy into his lap and kisses her.

Fi, however, finally snaps out of the trance she’s been in since Ivy confessed. “You sneaky shithead,” she shouts over the music. “All these years I’ve been covering for your craptacular dancing, and you knew!” She shakes a fist. “I swear to God, Ivy Weed…”

“Oh, please,” Ivy counters. “You pretend you suck at baking so you don’t have to cook for family holidays.”

Fi sniffs, looking guilty as hell. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ivy leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Midnight cookie baking ring a bell, Tink?”

Fi’s cheeks flush, and she studies her nails with undue interest while muttering something about traitor sisters under her breath. “Those are for PMS cravings and nothing more. I was baking under duress.”

“Right then,” Gray says, smart enough to interrupt before they can go down the dark road that is discussion of their periods. “We’re going to do a duet, Mac.”

Ivy bounces up. “I get to pick the song!”

She runs off, and Gray shoots out of his seat. “No chance in hell, Ivy Mac. Mac!”

Fi rolls her eyes. “She’s going to go all Beyoncé-Jay Z on him.”

I laugh hard at the thought of them singing “Drunk in Love.” “I’m filming the whole thing.” I pull out my phone and get it ready.

They don’t sing “Drunk in Love.” It’s worse. Much, much worse. Or maybe equally horrific.

“Oh. My. God.” Fi’s eyes go wide before she bursts out laughing.

Gray and Ivy have decided on “You’re the One That I Want” from Grease. Oh, they own it, belting out the lyrics just slightly off-key—well, completely off-key in Gray’s case—and totally working the crowd, who are all shouting and lifting their phones to film them. It’s clear Gray has been recognized.

But still, it’s terrible.

Fi and I howl with laughter until my sides hurt and I have to gulp down half my bottled water.

“I can’t believe she knew she sucked at dancing,” Fi mutters watching them, a smile still pulling at her lips.

“Well, when you think about it, she’d have to be blind not to know,” I counter. “I mean, the arm flailing alone…” I shudder dramatically, and Fi snickers, just as I’d hoped.

“Watch it,” she says, her gaze on the stage and a smile in her eyes. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“Hey, I love her like a sister too. Does that count?”

Fi turns, and her green eyes hold me captive. “As long as that doesn’t make us like brother and sister.”

I lean in until my lips nearly brush hers. “Not even close, Cherry.” I steal a quick, soft kiss and have the satisfaction of hearing her breath hitch.

My satisfaction grows when I pull back and she gazes up at me with a slightly dazed expression. I run the pad of my thumb over the smooth curve of her lower lip. My groin tightens with heat and want.