Page 24 of Shark’s Edge

“So these teenagers learn valuable lessons from your mistakes?”

A wry snicker. “Something like that, yes.”

“Hey, your misery now serves a purpose!”

“Gee, thanks for pointing that out,” I answered with a generous helping of side-eye.

She flung back an equally droll smirk. “And all the girls are from different schools in the region, right?”

“Right. All the cities from Santa Monica down to Long Beach are included, and east of the 405 too.”

I slid some neon-colored pencils into my bag, along with a copy of Thom Shea’s Unbreakable. In the stack from the bookstore, there were also copies of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Tools of Titans, and Awaken the Giant Within. We were distributing the copies evenly, with the plan that each group of girls who got a title would present the information to the others at upcoming meetings. I already smiled in anticipation of the concepts they’d be sharing from the reads.

“It’s cool because they come from all walks of life and demographics. They’re all learning that the real world”—I used my fingers to gesture air quotes around the words—“is a little different from what they might be experiencing in school. That there are lots of different kinds of people and that quite a few of them aren’t selfish monsters or entitled bitches.”

“Wait. What?” Rio flashed a bugged-out gaze. “Are you talking about groups of girls in puberty? Being mean and cruel and judgmental toward one another? Unheard of!”

A spurted laughter. “Don’t faint on me, please.”

“Who’s fainting?”

The disruption came from inside the house, startling both of us. Sean, returning from his morning run, had obviously dashed in via the rear alley and then the bungalow’s back door. My oldest brother—and Rio’s husband—appeared just inside the screen door, the mesh distorting his handsome face.

“Babe, are you sick? You need me to scoot to the drugstore and get you something?”

I rolled my eyes. “You’d probably swim to that drugstore even if it were across the channel on Catalina, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course he would.” Rio preened and purposely magnified the look when I added an I’m-going-to-barf groan. “Beauty always slays the beast,” she drawled. “Words to live by.”

As she finished doling the advice, Sean unfurled a savoring growl. “I’ll be your beast any day, princess.”

“Oh, God.” I doubled down on the groan. “Just no with the princess stuff, brother.” Cradling my face in my hands, I whined, “My brothers are such dorks.”

“And to think I longed for a big brother when I was little.”

“Doomed yourself. You ended up with three by marriage.”

She swept a look up at Sean, who had joined us on the patio. “Not complaining.”

“Thanks, Abs.” Then he added, “That reminds me. I gotta call Zander.”

“Why?” I flinched a second time. “Does he need bail money again?”

A nod from Sean wouldn’t have come as a surprise. Though I was the youngest in the birth order, Zander behaved like it more than the rest of us combined. The guy was a trouble magnet. Not all of it was his doing, but a big chunk was.

“Fortunately, nothing like that this time,” Sean offered while scrolling through screens on his phone. “He’s coming out for a visit and wanted to confirm some dates.”

Sliding his phone into his pocket, he surveyed our work. “What the hell is all this?”

“Your sister’s latest pet project,” Rio said just as I was about to launch into the elevator pitch about the Intrepids.

My brother wrapped his wife in his arms while she answered his follow-up questions about her plans for the day, each new answer earning her a kiss or a squeeze, his adoration glowing like the Hollywood sign on a clear night.

Jealous. I was jealous of what they had because I wanted that too. And the worst part? The man I was pining for would never hold me in his arms in front of other people and pepper my cheeks with proud kisses. He would never take interest in simple things like household chores and weekly errands.

I was a damn fool, and I needed to stop wasting my time hoping for the impossible.

I had to curb my contact with Sebastian Shark. Professional manners and culinary transactions only. Food on his damn table, wrapped in whatever linen he dictated. No more rocking his boat on purpose. I couldn’t care about his boat anymore. He certainly didn’t care about mine.