Page 28 of Synced to Us

My stomach clenches at his too-close assumption, even if it’s coming from an annoying brother angle and not actual knowledge, but another woman shadows my horizon. She’s blonde, pert with perfect breasts, and has poreless skin. “Oh my gosh, you must be—Dee, is it? Or Deonne? Brad mentioned it when he came inside and fell in that chair over there.” She emphasizes the ON in Deonne. “Aren’t you a peach.” Lucy moves in to buss both my cheeks. After a big gulp of Chanel No. 5, I hold my breath.

“I can’t believe Winnie kept you such a secret,” she says into my ear before we pull apart, but her hands don’t leave my shoulders. “This fabric is beyond. What is this blouse? Chanel?”

“Fendi, I think.”

“Oh, my.” Lucy’s hold lifts, but not until she sneaks in another stroke. “And here I’m greeting you in a Gucci tracksuit from five years ago! You must think me so nouveau riche.”

“I wasn’t thinking that at all.” I slip my tote from my shoulders as we talk.

“Gosh, you make the simplest words sound fancy.” Lucy rakes me over with an admiring, assessing look before promptly switching topics. It’s too early to tell if she just flung a veiled insult, or if she’s testing me. “Dessert? There’s no casserole left, but we have a yummy ice cream cake I picked up from the grocery store.”

“Sure.”

“Make me another, too, honey!” Brad calls.

“Why don’t we all have another slice and sit down at the table,” May adds, puttering around the kitchen. “It’s been too long since we’ve had Winston join us, and now he has a new sweetheart for us to get to know.”

“Can I help?” I feel more like a museum object on display than a helpful addition.

“No, sweetie,” May says over her shoulder. “We’ll meet you at the table. Bradford! Escort Dee to our dining room.”

Brad grunts out of the sofa chair, visibly rolling his eyes. Then he points. “To the right.”

Smiling at him with my teeth, I respond, “I’m sure I’ll find it.”

The dining room is located to the right of the front door with dated rose wallpaper and white wood paneling. I run my fingers along the table as I choose a seat, painted a distressed white. The chairs are the same color, with dusty rose cushioned seats, and the only other piece of furniture is what looks like a family heirloom—an oak china cabinet.

Wyn’s gravelly voice comes up behind me. “They have you sitting in here all on your own?”

His silhouette appears at the bottom of the stairs, hands tucked in his pockets with his hair down. The shadows clear like vines pulling apart as he moves into the entryway, where chords of muscle bulge into his forearms from his tense fists, belying his relaxed stance.

I should answer him, but a sudden thickness freezes the air between us. I keep my hands slack and at ease on the table, but my eyes lack the same control. They rove his exposed skin in the soft dining room light. They’re tanned and lacking the ink of his former bandmates, but I’ll take naked, muscular arms over the artistry of a needle any day. In response to my perusal, his stare rakes across my upper body. I’m seated, so I shouldn’t be affected, but shivers follow his study.

Answer him, damn it. Clearing my throat, I angle my head in the direction of the kitchen. “They have their routine in there. Besides, I enjoy exploring. There’s so much old mixing with new in the rooms I’ve seen.”

Wyn pulls out the chair beside mine, grunting, “That about sums this place up.”

His tone is off. I pull my hands to my lap and lean back in my chair. “Is something going on that I should know about?”

“Nah. Nothing.” Wyn combs his hand through his hair. “You’re doing enough. Being here, dealing with my family so they get off my back. My baggage isn’t part of a deal.”

“Right.” And he is. I’m not sure why I’m wishing he’d let me in. I try for a smile instead. “They seem survivable for a weekend.”

“Here’s hoping,” he says and glances above my head. “You need help, Ma?”

“No, dear.” May appears between us, setting two plates with large slices of melting cake. “Dig in. Bradford is right behind me. Scout made a peep, so Lucy’s checking on him.”

“Oh,” I say, my fork pausing above the dessert. I doubt May’s referring to a pet. “The twins are sleeping here? I thought there might’ve been a sitter at their place, or…”

At Wyn’s stiffened posture, I close my mouth.

Did I say something I shouldn’t? Am I being too nosey? I keep my head up. Wyn slips through my walls too easily. In the past five hours, I’ve broken the perfect girlfriend character more than I’ve kept it. It’s mortifying being this clumsy. Worse, it’s unprofessional.

“Bradford and his family live with me now.” May takes a seat across from me and threads her fingers. “While that wasn’t always the case—”

“We needed to sell our house to pay for the second mortgage on this one,” Brad cuts in. He falls into the chair next to his mother, scooping up a large portion of ice cream and shoving it into his mouth.

“Don’t you have papers to grade?” Wyn growls.

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