Sisters Like Us

“Jordan tell you about Mexico?” he asked.

“That you went with her family?”

He moved toward her. “No, Becca. The other part.”

Somehow she found herself backed against a corner of the counter. Nathan stood in front of her and there was nowhere to move. He put his hands on her waist and leaned close. For one horrifying second, she thought he was going to kiss her, but instead he whispered, “I can do that for you, too, if you want.”

He smelled faintly of chlorine and too much cologne and she didn’t like the way his fingers squeezed ever so slightly.

“I d-don’t know what that means,” she whispered, wishing he would move back and give her more room.

He kissed the side of her neck. “The virgin thing. I’m good with virgins. I take things slow and easy. You’ll like it.”

She shoved him hard and glared at him. “What are you talking about? You didn’t just say that. Jordan’s your girlfriend. You’re supposed to be in love with her.”

“I told her I loved her,” he said with a shrug. “There’s a difference.”

What? That didn’t make any—She felt her eyes widen. “You lied? You lied to get her to sleep with you? That’s disgusting.”

“Whatever gets the job done. So what about you?”

He started toward her again. She had no idea what he was going to do, but she was sure she didn’t want any part of it. She shoved him again, as hard as she could, then pushed past him. She grabbed her backpack, then raced out the front door. She was still running when she reached the end of the block.

Halfway home, she slowed enough to catch her breath. Her whole body hurt, her head felt funny and her stomach was a mess. She tried to slow her breathing only to have to turn toward some bushes and throw up. She vomited until there was nothing left, then started to cry.

What had just happened? Why had Nathan acted like that? Becca couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. She started running again, not stopping until she made it to her house.

Her mom was on the phone with a client. Becca hurried past her mom’s office, toward her own room. When she got there, she collapsed on the bed and gave in to more tears. She was scared and confused and sick.

A few minutes later, she felt a weight on the bed. She raised her head. “Oh, Mom...” But it wasn’t her mother. Jazz had come into the room and jumped up on her bed. Thor stood close by, as if standing guard. Becca threw her arms around her dog and hung on. Jazz snuggled close.

“It was so horrible,” Becca whispered. “He scared me. I didn’t think he was going to do anything bad, but what he said... I thought he and Jordan were in love.”

Jazz watched her attentively. Thor lay down on the floor, but kept his attention on her. Becca swallowed. “He’s her boyfriend. What is he thinking?”

She had a bad feeling he was thinking that he could use Jordan’s friends the way he used Jordan.

Her phone chirped. She reached for it and saw a text from Jordan.

Nathan says ur mom told u to get home but I know the truth. U have 2 get over it, B. Don’t be jealous of me. Ur my friend.

Becca stared at her phone, then tossed it on the floor and rolled onto her back. She had no idea what to do or think or say. All she knew for sure was that Nathan was a jerk, Jordan was blind and none of this was going to end well.

Chapter Eight (#u85d27302-be68-5d93-8bf7-c5d87ea4b5ac)

THE LANDSCAPING COMPANY pushed Harper over the edge. She’d been prepared to do all the work herself, to stay up nights and give up sleep, but an unexpected call from a landscaper who needed her to do the billing for him was one job too far.

The money was good and the work relatively easy. There was an existing database. All Harper had to do was enter the amount for the month, print out the invoices, stuff them in envelopes and pop them in the mail. Easy-peasy—except for the fact that there were nearly five hundred clients and the invoicing had to be done in less than two days.

Between that new job, her regular clients, the additional brochure work she had for the city and a flower shop client who wanted a “spruce” on content for her website, Harper was slammed. She’d been forced to hire help.

Rather than go through the trouble of placing an ad online or interviewing people, she heard about Morgan Wolfenbarger, a friend of a friend, who was looking for part-time work.

In the “oh goody” column, Morgan showed up right on time. She was tall and curvy, with long, curly dark hair. Under items that would be considered less fortunate, Morgan was a talker.

“Your house is really nice,” she said as Harper showed her to the small office where she would input the information on Harper’s only computer. Note to self—if she was going to continue to use extra help, she would need a second computer.

“We need to remodel our kitchen,” Morgan continued, as she settled in the chair. “It’s a disaster, but with the kids and everything, when would we find the time? And what would we do while it was torn up? I guess I could freeze a bunch of meals, but who wants to do that? Trust me, after running Supper’s in the Bag all those years, the last thing I want to do is prep meals.”