Tamed by Emma Chase

start to think about Mackenzie and—God forbid—if something ever happened to Alexandra, how Mackenzie would feel. Who would tell her, how much she would miss out on. Steven’s a great guy, an awesome father, but a mother—especially a fierce mother like Alexandra—that kind of love is different. More.
    Irreplaceable.
    And even though Dee’s apartment doesn’t seem dusty, some particles must have gotten in my eyes. I rub them, to get the irritation out.
    And I sniff. Goddamn allergies .
    “Are you crying?” Dee asks me with surprise and laughter in her voice.
    Disgustedly, I turn to her. “No, I’m not crying.”
    Then I look back at the television screen. Where Julia Roberts’s poor, distraught mother is screaming that she’s fine, when she’s obviously not. And about all the things she’s able to do that her kid never could.
    Jesus Christ, this is depressing.
    “It’s just so fucking sad!” I blurt out as I gesture to the television. “How can you watch this shit and not want to blow your head off with a twelve-gauge shotgun?”
    Dee covers her mouth and laughs into her hands. “The fact that it can make me cry is one of the reasons I love it so much.”
    Okay, that? That is like saying I love the table in my parents’front hall because I’m gonna stub my toe on it every frigging time I walk past barefoot.
    “Why?”
    She shrugs. “Sometimes it feels good to cry. It’s cathartic. You’ve never cried over a movie?”
    I’m offended that she even feels the need to ask.
    I shake my head, but then stop as I remember. “ Rocky Three . I cried during Rocky Three, but that doesn’t count. Anyone who doesn’t get choked up when Mickey dies has no soul.”
    She shrugs. “Never seen it.”
    “You’re missing out. Have you seen Predator ?” She shakes her head. “The original Escape from New York ?” Another negative. “ The Warriors ?”
    “Nope.”
    Then a thought occurs to me. “Wait, your cousin grew up with you and your mom, right?”
    “From the time I was about six years old, yeah.”
    “So you had a boy in the house—how is it you’ve never seen any of these classics?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
    Dee shrugs. “Billy was happy to watch what I wanted.”
    Sure he was. It’s then that I decide to take that poor male role model–deprived bastard under my wing.

    By Monday night, I’m well enough to return to my own apartment. You’d think after almost two full days away, I’d miss it—be glad to be home. But it feels . . . quiet. Boring, even.
    I develop the pictures I took with Dee at the park. And while I wait in the darkroom, I think about the last time I was here. With her. Her wet mouth, the stroke of her soft tongue, the way her cheeks hollowed out when she sucked me dry.
    As my memory runs wild, I just barely contain the pussy-whipped urge to call Delores and implore her to come over. I succeed, but only because we already made plans for her to hang out here Wednesday night.
    As far as I’m concerned, Wednesday can’t come soon enough.

    On Wednesday afternoon, I meet Alexandra downtown for lunch.
    The weather is mild, so we sit at a sidewalk table outside. I take a bite of my burger while Alexandra crunches a salad with grilled shrimp. Then I tell her, “So . . . I’ve met someone.”
    Growing up with Drew, I always regarded Lexi as my older sister, but the fact that we didn’t share the same genes, or actually have to live together, made our relationship much less contentious than the one she has with her brother. She looks out for me, but she doesn’t “mother” me the way she does with Drew. She gets annoyed by my screwups, but she doesn’t feel responsible for them. For me, it’s the best of both worlds—all the benefits of a big sister without the pain in the ass headaches.
    “From what I hear, you and my brother ‘meet’ lots of women.”
    I grin. “This one I like.”
    She nods. “Once again, you and Drew ‘like’ a