“Look, whatever you decide to do,” shouted Cleo, wobbling through push-ups on the handlebars, “I’m here for you. And Lola will be too, obviously.”

She paused for a beat.

“God, this fucking sucks,” she said with a laugh as the instructor announced it was time to grab weights for the arm workout.

I nodded along in agreement, and on behalf of my quads, which were very pissed off. “I really can’t believe you’re here. When was the last time you took a spin class?”

“Last time? Um, that one time I did it with you.”

“That was almost a year ago, Clee.” I started laughing so hard I almost dropped my weights.

Cleo was still cursing as we stood outside the spin studio minutes later, slurping water.

“I should have just stayed in bed and tried to go back to sleep,” I grumbled. “I was having this very weird dream where I was on a motorcycle with—” I stopped myself. I didn’t want to tell Cleo about my Hayes dream. It had been totally G-rated, yet it had felt so erotic at the same time.

“With who?” she asked, water bottle at her lips.

Busted. “Don’t laugh,” I said finally, and she nodded. “With Hayes.”

“Ooooh.” She pursed her lips and did a little sexy dance with her shoulders. “Someone’s got Hot Suit on the brain. Was it a sex dream? On the motorcycle?”

“No!” I insisted. “We just rode around on the motorcycle.” I purposefully neglected to add how turned on it had left me.

“Okay, well, listen, as much as I want to hear more about your road trip with Hayes, I have to go home and get ready for work. You can call me anytime to talk about this sister stuff, okay? Dad stuff too. You know I know what it’s like to lose a dad.”

Cleo’s dad had died when she was in high school, and it had impacted her in ways I know I couldn’t begin to understand. I pressed my lips together. “What if I’m…” My voice trailed off. It felt too embarrassing to say out loud.

“What if you’re what?” she asked, digging her hands through her sweaty hair as she gave me an expectant look.

“A disappointment? She finds out this sister she’s all excited to meet is some unemployed American weirdo?”

“Okay, Franny.” Cleo planted her hands on my shoulders, a stern look on her face. “I want to validate your feelings while also reminding you to speak kindly about yourself, as if you were talking about a friend.”

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes with a sigh. “But she’s an architect and a designer. She does what I do, but, like, for real.”

“You’re not the Velveteen Rabbit, babe.” Cleo dropped her arms and nudged me onward. “I promise you, you’re already very real.”

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Hayes