Page 6 of All In

“And the original prop auction‚” I stop, because her expression has shifted slightly, and I recognize that shift. I’ve been clocking my sister’s expressions since before either of us had words for things. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Clover.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a face.”

“I’m allowed to have a face.”

I point at her. “Not what I meant, and you know that.”

She holds up both hands in a gesture of theatrical innocence. “I thought you’d be more excited about seeing Eric again. Granted, that was before I knew he was a total creeper!”

I groan. I fall backward onto the pile of fabric at the head of my bed, which gives in a satisfying, cushiony way that real pillows never quite manage. “There it is.”

“There it is what?”

“The actual reason you came over.”

“I came to help you pack.”

That makes me snort laugh. “You’re a terrible packer. You came to ask about Eric.”

“I came to watch you pack,” she repeats, primly, “and also to ask about Eric.”

I stare at my ceiling. There’s a small paint chip near the light fixture that I have been meaning to touch up for eight months. I find it oddly comforting right now.

“He’s fine,” I say. “Maybe he was just trying to be sexy.”

“Well, he failed.”

“Indeed. How is it that men in books can dirty talk and it’s so hot, but men in real life… no, thank you.”

“I haven’t figured that one out either.” My sister sighs. “For what it’s worth,” she says, “you don’t owe Eric three days of your attention just because he showed up with a schedule memorized.”

“I know.”

“You owe yourself the showcase. And the panel. And the prop auction.”

“Definitely the prop auction,” I agree. I sit up, reach over, and begin the process of carefully, methodically removing the items from my ruined suitcase. “This weekend is mine. If Eric finds me, I’ll deal with it then. I’m not spending the drive up there pre-worrying about a guy who can’t take a damn hint.”

“There she is.”

Clover looks at me for a long moment.

Then she gets up, comes around to my side of the bed, and hugs me from behind, her chin on my shoulder, both arms looped around me in the particular way she’s been hugging me since we were small.

“Have the best weekend,” she says quietly. “All of it. The showcase, the panel, the auction. Don’t let Eric, or anyone else, take up space in your head that he hasn’t earned.”

I lean back into her. Outside my window, the late afternoon light is doing something lovely across the rooftops, all gold and soft-edged.

“I won’t,” I say.

And I mean it, mostly.

I also start making a list in my head of everything I still need to fit in the suitcase. Ugh, the ruined suitcase.