Home > Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(10)

Elastic Hearts (Hearts #3)(10)
Claire Contreras

“Let me get you more pancakes,” my mom said, snapping me out of my thoughts as she reached for my plate. I stopped her before she could take it.

“Thanks, Ma. I can get it, though.”

I needed a break from Oliver and my sister’s questioning gazes. Ever since they’d married, they’d started acting like I was a little lost boy when they were around me for too long. I guess at one point they must have gotten sick of learning a new woman’s name every time I brought somebody around, so they made it their mission to try and set me up with somebody they felt would gain my attention. That basically meant they were trying to set me up with every breathing female they came in close quarters with, which was what my mother had been trying to do since I graduated from law school, and having three fucking matchmakers breathing down my neck was something I could only handle in small doses. I was in the kitchen, smearing my pancakes with butter when Oliver walked in with his plate.

“What’s the deal? I haven’t seen you this tired in a while.”

“Work. I stayed up late looking into a new client.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t your assistant do that stuff for you?”

I put the butter down and picked up the syrup.

“Your plate looks like a heart attack waiting to happen,” he said. I looked at him as I poured the syrup.

“Oh, yeah? Did Dr. Oz teach you that?” I asked.

Much to his annoyance, I always joked and said his obsession with Dr. Oz rivaled my mom’s with Oprah. He made a face of disapproval, but didn’t bother to tell me he didn’t care for Dr. Oz, the way he normally did. Instead he moved on to serve his measly oatmeal.

“Prisoners eat more food than you,” I said, nodding at his plate.

He chuckled, pushing all that girly hair off his face before taking a spoonful into his mouth.

“I’m not even going to start a debate about prison food right now because I know how much you hate to lose. I’m just saying, you’re not twenty-one anymore. You need to watch the shit you eat.”

I sighed. “I’m tired and I only eat like this on weekends. You know this and you still give me this little speech every fucking week. I already told you, it’s been proven that if you eat shitty food one day a week it speeds up your metabolism.”

He scoffed. “Keep getting your information from those steroid-injecting wannabe nutritionists on Instagram and see where that gets you.”

I smiled around a mouthful of pancake. I didn’t even have an Instagram account. He knew this. My life wasn’t exciting enough for me to document in photographs. We were eating in silence for a bit before he spoke up again.

“Do you want to go to a charity gold tournament next weekend?”

“Not particularly,” I said. “I’ll donate, though. What’s the cause?”

“Childhood obesity.”

“I’ll donate.”

“You sure you don’t want to come? Lots of single women in those country clubs,” he said in a voice that sounded like something he would use to tease a child.

Again with the trying to set me up with somebody. I resisted the urge to groan, but shot him an annoyed look nonetheless.

“Positive. You of all people should know I don’t need help in that category.”

“That’s the problem. You only meet women who are looking for a good time. These women are looking to settle down.”

“Which is the same thing I want,” I scoffed. “Those country club women are looking for their next sugar daddy.”

“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “They’re looking for men who have drive and know what they want. No shame in that.”

“No,” I said, mimicking him. “They’re looking for money. Money and power.”

As I’d looked at the pictures of Nicole and Gabriel that was the only thing I could come up with. Apparently that’s what women wanted—money and power. It was unsettling though, because Nicole had both without him. Maybe she just liked that he was famous. Still, the Nicole I knew wouldn’t have married a guy for any of those things. Or maybe the Nicole I thought I knew was a more accurate assessment. The Nicole I thought I knew didn’t even want to get married. I wasn’t sure what had changed, or where it did, but the thought that she had sex with me and accepted a proposal a few weeks later was just . . . mind-boggling.

“You listening to me?” Oliver asked. I blinked a few times and turned to set my empty plate in the sink.

“Sorry. I zoned out. What?”

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