Page 44 of Resist

I roll my eyes. “I hate when you call me that.”

“Then tell me who’s messaging you, and I’ll stop.” Sister logic is so very fucked up. She will never stop calling me that.

I can’t risk Mom knowing that Blackwell had a daughternamed Cora. It’s not a common name, and if she does know they’re related, she may not react well.

I have to give them something, they’re staring at me with amused smirks, and the conversation isn’t going to be shifted or deflected until I answer at least who I’m texting.

So I do the only thing I can think of under the scrutiny of two women who have wanted me to find a partner and settle down for years on end.

“Her name is Cecelia.”

Cora lied to me about who she is, and now I’ve added another lie to the mounting pile I’m putting down for my family to pick back up again.

Tessa squeals and claps her hands together. “Eeeeeeeeeee Lingy has a girlfriend!”

I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head. “You said you’d stop calling me that.”

Mom mutters something about how it’s long overdue for one of her kids to get married and settle down. And like a lightning bolt, it comes to me how I can get close enough to the skeletons in Blackwell’s closet for me to shine a light on his shadows before I tear down the walls.

I’m going to marry Cora Blackwell.

CHAPTER 15

Cora

My hands aresticky as I sit in Grind and Go coffee shop waiting for Sterling to arrive. I arrived early so I could try to settle my churning stomach. It’s Thursday morning, we’ve worked for a full three days together in the same building, and I can’t take it anymore.

We need to talk. I need to plead my case, to tell him why I lied to him about my name.

The bone-deep cold shoulder from Monday seems to have melted from him over the past few days. But he’s still not what I’d call warm, either. He’s been perfectly civil any time our paths have crossed in the office.

From the little I know about this man, I know he’s not warm, he’s not perfectly civil, he’s not tepid. The man is an inferno, and despite barely knowing him, I miss being burned in his orbit.

I need to explain myself, figure out how to thaw him back to where we were on Sunday, before real life kicked us both in the crotch.

My phone vibrates on the table.

FOXY

Talked to him yet?

MADDIE

You know she hasn’t. She’s a chicken shit.

Bok. Bok. Bok.

She follows her clucking message up with about twelve chicken emojis.

I’ll have you know I’m sitting waiting for him to arrive. We’re having coffee.

MADDIE

Bok. Bok. Bok.

FOXY

It’s the middle of the work day.