Hunger Moon Rising Read online

  “Sure.” She shrugged, obviously mystified and a little hurt, but I couldn't stay and make things right between us. If I didn't get out of the office that minute, I knew I was going to do something I'd regret the rest of my life.

  “Sorry,” I said again, and left.

  Chapter Three

  Dani

  When I got home from what had to be the weirdest day of work I'd had since Ben started at the Sun Times, my little sister Tara was already there waiting for me. She was seven years younger than me and living at my condo off and on while she dabbled in school, trying to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up.

  I sighed when I saw her little red Miata parked out front. It wasn't that I didn't love her—I did with all my heart. Since our folks had divorced when I was seventeen and she was ten, we were even closer than most sisters because my mom was too busy chasing new husbands to be much of a mother. But sometimes, no matter how much I loved Tara, I just wanted a little peace and solitude.

  I parked my sensible but sleek Infiniti sedan and went to the front door. Surprise, surprise, it was already unlocked and hanging ajar. Loud pop music poured out at me when I pushed it open with my fingertips. So much for peace and solitude, I thought as I dropped my purse and keys on the table by the door and made sure it was securely locked.

  “Tara?” I called, as I made my way past the trail of clothes, shoes, and CDs she'd left in her path. I found her in the condo's small kitchen, making a batch of one bowl brownies, which meant she was going out later. It was the one halfway homemade recipe she could cook, and she generally reserved it for special occasions, like when she wanted to impress a new boy.

  “Oh, hi!” She was bopping around, licking the mixing spoon, and I had to laugh despite myself when I saw the chocolate mustache she was wearing. “I'm baking for Jeremy,” she explained, nodding at the oven where the brownies were already starting to smell good.

  I rolled my eyes. Jeremy must be her latest flame. “What's this group?” I asked, nodding at the small CD player in the corner of the kitchen that was blaring noise in my direction. “You mind turning it down?”

  “The Killers. This is 'Mister Brightside,' from their Hot Fuss CD. You like it?”

  “Never heard of it,” I said.

  Tara made a face at me. “God, where have you been?” There's nothing like a college-aged sister to make you feel like a fossil.

  “Just at work, making money to pay for this place, so you can come in and bake brownies, and listen to obscure groups I've never heard of because I'm too busy earning a living to keep up with the latest trends,” I snapped.

  “Geeze, sorry.” Tara bopped across the kitchen and flipped off the CD player. “Who peed in your Cheerios, anyway?”

  “Nobody.” I sighed and plopped down at the tiny breakfast nook table that was big enough to seat exactly two—three, if they were anorexic. I looked at her hopefully. “Are those brownies almost done?”

  “Almost.” She sat down across from me and propped her chin in one hand. “Okay, so spill.” Her latest major was Clinical Psychology, and she loved to practice analyzing me.

  I waved a hand at her. “Nothing to spill.”

  “Bullshit,” Tara said confidently. She gestured at me. “Just look at that body language—you're closed off, depressed—”

  “I'm cramped because the damn table is so small,” I objected, then sighed. “Okay, I had something really…weird happen at work today.” I told her about the guy with the picture, and how Ben had been acting really strangely after he helped evict him from the building.

  “Sounds like displacement anxiety,” Tara began. “You see, Ben—”

  I held up a hand to stop her premature analysis. “Just wait, that's not even the weird part.”

  I told her about how Ben had marked the desk while we were moving it, but when I got to the part where I was giving him one of my expert, patented back massages, she interrupted me with a squeal of glee.

  “Oh, my God! It finally happened. You and Ben did it right there on the desk, didn't you? This is so cool—I knew it! I knew all that 'platonic friendship' crap couldn't last.”

  “Hold it,” I said indignantly. “What do you mean 'platonic friendship crap'? We're still friends, and we did not do the nasty right on Great-Grandfather Linden's antique mahogany desk.”

  “Okay.” Tara frowned. “Let me get this straight: you had him in the office with the door closed, and his shirt off, and a bottle of baby oil, no less…”

  “It was all I could find,” I said, trying not to sound defensive, but Tara went plowing on through like I hadn't said a word.

  “You had all that going for you, and you didn't jump his bones?” she finished.

  “Of course not. We're friends. Best friends—partners. But that's all,” I emphasized. “It's just that…I don't know. I gave him a shoulder rub earlier in the day, and he didn't seem upset. But when I went to give him the back massage, he just freaked out. It was the weirdest thing.”

  Tara sat up from her slouch and considered me carefully. “You know what your problem is?” she asked at last.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Do tell.”

  “Your problem is that Ben spoils you,” Tara said, and sat back with an annoying smirk on her face.

  “He what? He does not,” I denied.

  “He does too. He lets you get away with anything you want, so you take him for granted. When you first met him, you were still wounded from your relationship with Mitch, the ex from hell,” Tara said. “You weren't ready to get romantically involved with anyone, and Ben saw that. So he waited. And he's been waiting ever since.”

  “That's ridiculous,” I snapped, frowning. “Ben isn't waiting for me.”

  “Is too,” Tara snapped back. “And you—” She poked a finger at me. “You keep him waiting because you like having someone to call in the middle of the night if you get upset, or a nice muscular shoulder to cry on without risking getting hurt again.”

  “That's the biggest load of crap I've ever heard,” I said, lifting my chin and looking down my nose at her. “Your analysis stinks. Maybe you'd better go back to being an English major.”

  “If I'm so wrong, tell me this.” Tara leaned across the table and looked me in the eye. “How would you feel if Ben started seeing someone else—dating some girl—and stopped spending every waking moment with you?”

  “I…” I licked my lips and tried to sound superior. “That would be his choice, of course. I don't have anything to do with his love life.”

  “Oh, so you wouldn't mind if I took a shot at him?” She grinned.

  “You?” The thought nearly made me speechless. “You? Why you…you better not even—”

  “See?” Tara crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me triumphantly. “You say you don't want him, but you sure as hell don't want anyone else snapping him up either. You like him just the way he is, but he can't stay that way forever.”

  “Stay what way?” I demanded.

  The oven timer buzzed, and Tara got up to check the brownies. “Look, Dani,” she said over her shoulder, not answering my question. “Ben is a nice man, don't get me wrong. But he's still a man, and if there's one thing I know, it's men.”

  “Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Oh, like you know so much more with your seven years more of experience?” Tara burned her fingers on the brownie pan and swore loudly.

  “Well, I have been dating for a little bit longer than you,” I said, getting up to help her. It was crowded in the tiny kitchen, but we were used to it and danced around each other, Tara running cool water over her fingers while I got a knife and a plate.

  “That's not true,” she countered, reaching for a paper towel. “Think about it: how many dates have you been on since you and Ben got partnered up at work?”

  “Uh, I don't know.” I had a bad feeling about this line of reasoning. “Ten or twenty?'

  “Try four or five,” Tara countered. “Basically, you haven