Whisper to Me

“In about an hour,” I said around a mouthful of cereal.

“Dad might not admit it, but he likes having you at the casino,” Dakota said. “Mom, too.”

Rachel peeked at me over the top of her coffee cup, her green eyes clear, like a cellophane wrapper.

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

Dakota pointed her buttered toast across the table. “So don’t fuck it up.”

As a flash of heat stretched across my neck, I noticed how Rachel’s eyes widened. She never got involved in our sibling arguments, so I knew she’d keep her mouth shut this time, too. But I was not in the mood for Dakota’s bullshit this morning and especially not in front of Rachel.

More than anything, I didn’t want Rachel to see me as a fuckup anymore.

“Damn, sis,” I said, raising my coffee cup in a salute. “Thanks for your support.”

“C’mon, Kai,” she said. “You’ve already got the entire female staff panting after you.”

“And somehow that’s my fault?” I refused to look at Rachel, but I caught her frown in my peripheral vision. Great, she was already siding with my sister. “I’m not trying to hook up with anybody from work.”

“Yeah, right. The only rule at the casino is that you can’t gamble,” she said. “The tribal nation doesn’t specify dating co-workers.”

“And?”

“I saw you chatting up Meadow the other night.”

“What the hell, Dakota?” As I stood up in a huff, my chair toppled on two legs and almost crashed to the floor. “So I can’t be friends with co-workers? I’m supposed to keep to myself and talk to nobody?”

She scrunched up her face at my display. “You know what I mean.”

I rinsed my bowl in the sink, suddenly losing my appetite.

“Not sure I know at all what you mean,” I mumbled.

“Since when do you know the company policy for dating co-workers?” Rachel asked, her eyebrows wiggling playfully at Dakota.

Dakota gave her a warning look. I strode to the kitchen island to refill my coffee cup.

“See what a hypocrite you’re being? Besides, you haven’t been around me in three years,” I said, throwing her earlier comment back in her face. “Maybe I actually had a serious girlfriend in Amsterdam who you know nothing about.”

Both Dakota’s and Rachel’s jaws fell open at that revelation. God, I was just digging myself a deeper grave.

“Seriously?” I ran a hand through my hair. “Is that really a breaking news story?”

“What’s her name?” Dakota asked, her eyes narrowed in a challenge.

I noisily placed my mug on the table and reached for the sugar bowl. “What?”

“Name the girl you dated,” she said. “Off the top of your head . . . and go.”

Suddenly my brain was a blank canvas. I had dated two girls for about a month each until I realized the relationships just weren’t working for me. One of them agreed to the mutual split. But the other was furious with me, spewing all kinds of obscenities in Dutch. It was actually kind of sexy. I’d been attracted to her, but I didn’t think we had anything in common besides good sex.

But under Dakota’s and Rachel’s scrutiny—two of the most important women in my life—I just couldn’t remember the names of the girls I’d shared my bed with for more than one night.

“Told you so,” Dakota said.

Rachel dug back into her toast, her expression unreadable.

What did she think of me now? Maybe what she always had. That I was a guy nobody could pin down. And that no longer sat well with me.

“Screw you,” I said, and headed out of the room. “Going to shower.”

Thirty minutes later I emerged from my room dressed in black jeans and a red Golden Arrow T-shirt that Stuart had scored for me to replace that itchy polyester jacket.

Dakota was sprinting around the apartment trying to get her last-minute work things in order. She resembled Mom, with her elegance and professionalism in her gray skirt and black heels, despite having dark hair and olive skin.

“See you later,” she said to me. Just as Dakota pulled open the door to breeze into the hallway, Rachel’s voice rang out.

“Are we out of shower gel, Dakota? I couldn’t find any under the sink or in the linen closet.”

“Shoot,” Dakota said, training her eyes on me. “I thought I bought more.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, edging the door shut. “She can use regular old soap from my shower.”

“Boys.” Dakota rolled her eyes and then turned for the bank of elevators. “Tell Rachel she needs to bring home the good stuff from her mom’s shop.”

There were three bedrooms and one utility area in my sister’s condo, and compared to my tiny rented bedroom in Amsterdam, it seemed like a warehouse instead of a closet. Dakota’s master suite was on the east end of the living room along with Rachel’s bedroom and the bathroom they shared. My bed and bath were located on the other end.

That was cool by me because a lot of chicks always had their makeup and lotions and perfumes spread all over the counter, and it drove me nuts. Dudes like me are low maintenance because we don’t need much—just deodorant, soap, shampoo, and a toothbrush.

Don’t get me wrong, all of those products help girls look and smell damn good, but if I could avoid having to share a space with a woman, I would at all costs. Though I might make an exception for one girl in particular.

As I headed down the hallway toward Rachel, I suddenly realized how something as normal as discussing toiletries with a roommate now felt too intimate.

“Dakota had to leave for work,” I said from outside the bathroom door. “She said you should bring some shower stuff home from your mom’s shop today.”

I heard her muffled voice. “Yeah, I could do that.”

“I’ll let you borrow my old-fashioned bar of soap, though. It’s coming your way. Sound good?”

She giggled as she pulled open the door, and then her mouth drew into a straight line when her gaze clashed with mine. She had on a fuzzy pink bathrobe and my eyes darted to the area above her breasts, where the terrycloth parted, and then down to the tightly drawn sash. Was she naked beneath that wrap? I couldn’t help imagining what she’d do if I suddenly leaned forward and untied that knot.

“Thanks,” she said. I saw her swallow roughly at my inspection. “I’ll also bring home a thing or two for your bathroom.”

“Will it smell like you?” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them.

Her nostrils flared briefly as her eyes zoned in on my lips and then flitted away. “Wou . . . would that be a good thing?”

“You always smell good, Turtle.” I turned and headed back down the hallway before I confessed something even more damaging. “Be right back.”

Rachel’s hair had been up in a messy bun, and I wondered what kind of shampoo she used, because her hair had smelled amazing the other night. I needed to rein in my thoughts before Rachel realized that I was focusing way too much on our one-time encounter.

I grabbed the Ivory soap from my shower, all the while cursing myself for not acting more normal around her. When I returned to her bathroom, the door had been left open and Rachel was leaning over the sink, cleaning her face with a washcloth.

I figured I needed to say something to redeem myself. “I think the stuff from Pure smells pretty good. You always wear that lotion.” A memory of her mother massaging hand cream into Rachel’s weak and trembling fingers at the hospital came to mind. That scent would linger in the room for hours afterward.

“You told me the name of it once. Something with rice or maybe wheat?” I knew damn well what the actual name was but no way would I let her know that.

Her head snapped up and her reflection met mine. “You remember what it’s called?”

“Pretty sure anyone would remember that it’s named after some kind of food.” I shrugged. “But it smells like flowers.”

A pretty rose hue stretched across her cheeks. “It’s rice flower.”

“That’s it,” I said, avoiding her gaze. I slipped behind her to place the new bar of soap on the tray in the shower. I tried not to rub against her, but damn, I so wanted to.