In hindsight, I’m lucky I still had friends after that.

Quinn thought it was hilarious, then again, he did burst into tears about how Wolverine lost Jane, and it was like a whole moment.

Thank God nobody got it on camera.

Quinn reaches out and pats B on the head. “I think we’ll keep you. Anyone who doesn’t forget that the X-men are actually part of the marvel universe can sit at this table. Am I right, Ambrose?”

“That would be correct.”

Quinn winks at her and then looks over at me. “Give my regards to Wolverine.”

“Yeah okay, Jane.” I roll my eyes, refusing to be embarrassed. I mean, at least I was Wolverine. He was my crush, yeah as I even say that in my head, doesn’t work, doesn’t bring back good memories.

He bursts out laughing and, still shirtless, just walks away from us without a care in the world. The sound of the front door slamming is pretty damning as I look over at MB, and she looks up at me, her pretty brown eyes full of questions.

“So…” She reaches around me for another piece of bacon and chomps it down. “Wolverine, hmm? There a story there?”

I lean closer toward her. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

She shrugs and walks past me. “Meh, I’m good.”

Okay, so now I want to tell her.

Women! So manipulative!

“Where you going?” I follow her as she weaves her way around the pristine living room; they really did clean up great for me, huh. She opens the back door and walks out into the backyard. I almost bump into her and barely stop myself.

She eats the rest of the bacon and then stares out at the pool. “Wanna swim?”

“You sure I won’t drown you?”

She lets out a laugh and turns to give me a light shove. “You’re like a baby giraffe right now; you can barely stand up, let alone hold me under.”

“Wanna bet on it?” Are these words actually coming from my mouth? I want to smack myself. Instead, I just wait for her response, thinking she’s going to shove me harder, get offended, or just pissed… instead she pulls the shirt over her head and drops it onto the ground.

My mouth goes completely dry.

She’s in nothing but a white Nike sports bra and small gray underwear that, after kicking off her sweatpants, yup, I lick my lips, barely cover her ass cheeks as she sways away from me, her long legs giving me visions of a lot of very naughty things for my future.

Shit.

I’m supposed to hate her.

Foster sister.

Foster sister.

Responsible for my dad’s murder, or was actually there when he died, blood covering her hands, figuratively, not literally.

And yet I can’t stop my feet from moving after her; step by step, I finally make it to the edge of the pool. Her splash hits me in the face, and I swear I can smell her in the water droplets as they slide down my face.