Skye, my gorgeous half-sister, turned her head and flashed me an innocent smile. “Sorry. I’m just super excited about tonight. I thought you were going for a run.”
“I did go for a run,” I said defensively. Didn’t she see the tennis shoes and sweat?
“To the hot dog vendor? There’s mustard on your shirt, Emma,” she laughed. “I told you that I’d go running with you if you were serious about training.”
Skye was a natural athlete. My father, no doubt unhappy that his second child was also a female, raised her like a boy. She’d played just about every sport that had been offered in her school and had been her high-school prom queen. I hated her the moment I laid eyes on her, but it didn’t take long before we were practically best friends.
My parents were never married, and my father spent so
