Secret North: Book 4 of The Wishes Series by GJ Walker-Smith Page A

fridge are all hers,” Bente concluded.
    “I never knew she was such a green-eyed little monster.” I flopped beside her on the couch. “Why do you have to stay away from the park?”
    Bente laid her legs across my lap. “She said I’m too old.” She grinned. “I considered snapping all the legs off her dolls as retaliation, but then I remembered she’s already done it.”
    ***
    My very first girlfriend was not a procrastinator. A week of unemployment was all she could stand, so Bente was heading out to find work.
    “I’ve got a few contacts,” she called from the bathroom. “I might be able to call in a favour or two.”
    “Don’t jump at just anything this time,” I urged. “You don’t need to take the first job that comes up.”
    The bathroom amplified her raspy R-rated laugh. “Yes, I do.” She stalked back into the bedroom half dressed, fresh-faced and beautiful. The second she was close enough; I reached and grabbed her. “I’ve changed my mind,” I said, hauling her across the bed.
    “About what?”
    “About letting you leave.” I rolled, pinning her beneath me. “You’re too pretty to leave.”
    “Let me up, Ry,” she replied. “I’ve got work to find.”
    I lowered my head, breathing my next words against her cheek. “Say my name again.”
    “Ryan.”
    “No, not like that.”
    She arched her back, pressing herself against me as she obscenely purred my name. “Ooh, Ryan.”
    “Lovely, but not what I meant,” I told her, chuckling. “You shortened my name. I’ve heard you do it a few times lately. I think I like it.”
    Her body relaxed beneath me. “Bridget does it all the time.”
    I kissed her before replying. “Bridget doesn’t count.”
    ***
    Despite my best efforts at making her stay, Bente left the apartment half an hour later. I had nowhere to be until late afternoon.
    I managed to drag myself out of bed to the couch. I sat for a minute, trying to come to grips with the recent changes to the décor. Two pink velvet chairs stood in a corner, breaking every design rule ever written. I almost didn’t care how ugly they were because they were Bente’s chairs. The part of me that did care was wondering if my brother knew anything about upholstering.
    Most of the unpacking had been done, with the exception of a few boxes of books and one box of junk on the coffee table. I fought the urge to sneak a peek for five whole minutes before I actually did it. The most scandalous thing I found was a yoga DVD – until I happened upon Bente’s inspiration for learning the hip-grinding rumba.
    Her prized copy of Dirty Dancing .
    My DVD player had barely been used pre-niece. It was now on its last legs thanks to constant re-runs of the mermaid movie she loved. I pulled Bridget’s disc out and loaded Bente’s, promising myself that this was one film I’d deny ever watching. I’d barely gotten through the opening credits when the front door swung open. That was the first and only hint I got that Adam and Bridget were coming over, which proved that giving them the new code to the door was a mistake. I nearly jumped out of my skin, for no other reason than fear of being caught watching a chick flick. I hid the DVD case under the nearest cushion, pointed the remote at the TV and frantically punched the off button until the screen went black.
    “Can’t you people knock?” I sounded more panicked than angry.
    Of all the mornings to practise her hand-eye coordination skills, Bridget had chosen this one. “I put the key in and turned it.” She waved it at me. “It’s easy.”
    Her father wasn’t so oblivious. “What did we just walk in on?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You can’t stay, Bridge,” he told her, staring at me. “I’ll make other arrangements.”
    “No, I want to stay,” Bridget insisted. She was already buried headfirst in her toybox.
    “You can stay, sweetheart.”
    “No she can’t,” protested Adam in a strange muted growl.
    “Why not?”
    Adam glanced at his