“No, you pictured me old, wrinkly, with too many moles, like the emperor in Star Wars.” I laugh.

“No, I didn’t picture you at all, Miller Archer.”

“The dresses,” I say with a gruff voice while counting backward from a hundred to one.

Stay down, boy. But my dick is having trouble obeying. We’re both salivating at the thought of those soft hands wrapped around it.

She works for you.

She works for you.

“Do it for Tuscany, Claire Bear.”

“You have a real thing for Julia Roberts,” Claire says.

“There you are, Milo.” I hear my sister’s voice before I spot her.

“That’s Lola,” I mumble, watching my little sister approaching us.

“Have you ever told them you hate your nickname?”

“Nope, and let’s keep it that way,” I plead.

“You know my brother Thomas hates being called Tom, and he lets us know when we do. I still call him Tom-Tom to taunt him.” She gives me a mischievous smile.

Poor Tom-Tom. Little sisters can be annoying, and I can see Claire using the nickname more often than her brother would care for.

“Mom said you’d be in your room,” she says, giving me a big hug and then turning to Claire. “Hi, I’m Lola.”

“Claire,” she introduces herself. She stands up and hugs my sister. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

“You too,” she says, returning Claire’s hug. “I wish he’d introduced us before. This is such a surprise.”

“What’s up, Lola?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself before dinner. It’s going to be…busy.”

“Who else is coming?”

“Dad’s family,” she says, and with that, I’m already expecting the worst. “Are you going to be okay?”

“As long as I don’t have to act like a bouncer, it’s all good.”

“I wish our parents weren’t so…family oriented,” Lola says using air quotes. “It’ll be okay.”

“Oh, do you want to come to the bachelorette party tomorrow?” Lola says to Claire.

She quickly answers with a polite, “Thank you for the invite, but I’ll have to pass.”

“I mean, I know it’s last minute,” my sister says, disappointed.

When I move my gaze to Claire, to try to convince her to go, I can’t help but stare at those scared brown eyes.

“Claire’s birthday is next week,” I say, taking her hand and kissing it. “We’re celebrating it tomorrow.”

“We should celebrate with her,” Lola suggests.

Claire squeezes my hand lightly.

“Maybe another time, Lola.”

“Fine, but let’s try to have brunch on Sunday,” she offers, squeezing my hand and smiling at Claire before she leaves.

“Thank you for getting me out of that.” She pushes me playfully with her elbow.

“Why did you say no to the bachelorette party?”

“What if I can’t hold my alcohol?” She drinks her water. “I would spill the beans and lose Tuscany.”