Page 43 of Synced to Us

We’ve both made our choices.

16

Dee

Wyn waits for me at the bottom of the stairs and has probably been there for a good hour.

Why? Because a city girl getting ready for a small-town bar outing isn’t easy. Do I wear a cocktail dress? Jeans? Plaid flannel? I’d torn through my luggage, tossing aside a designer sheath, a leather skirt, and tailored maxi-dress. Finally, I tamped down my anxiety, stood back, assessed the damage, and remembered this shouldn’t be so hard. Casual dress in a dive bar doesn’t require expert level thinking.

Wyn was messing with my head. I was freaking out over an outfit because of the perplexing need to impress him.

The feel of his long, hard body up against my back when he directed my axe swing is still very real in my mind, especially when his hips moved and the hardened zipper of his jeans rubbed up against my ass…

Focus, Dee. You’re with his family. This is not a date.

I ended up deciding on cut-off denim shorts and an off-the-shoulder ruby red T-shirt. Leaving my hair down, I threw it into a side-part and scrunched it into waves. I touched up my makeup with a kiss of blush, tinted gloss, and mascara, but frowned when my hand kept shaking during the simple application.

Why was I so nervous? McKenna and I loved getting ready for Saturday nights. I tried to embrace that fizzy, carefree feeling we had as I moisturized my legs and chose black lacquered flats. True, tonight wasn’t going to have the usual strobing-effect of clubs, silk drapery, and champagne, but the pressure is more somehow. I want to make a good impression on people Wyn knows.

That’s why, when I see Wyn at the bottom of the stairs, his bowled-over expression causes my stomach to flutter. I made the right choice.

“Wowza,” he says when I reach the bottom. “I’m liking this casual Dee.” He reaches over and plays with a thick strand of my hair. “You look good rumpled up, gorgeous.”

My hair slips from his hand at the same time I feel a burning blush fill my cheeks.

Wyn doesn’t give me time to respond. He’s moved to hold open the screen door and motions me through. “Lucy and Brad are in the car.”

That simple statement gives me enough time to bury the butterflies in my stomach and I’m sure a flushed expression. I don’t do coquettish. Clearing my throat, I throw my hair behind my shoulder and stride forward.

“After you,” Wyn murmurs. There’s enough grit in his voice to tell me he’s checking out my ass as I descend the patio’s stairs.

That’s better.

The pickup truck idles in the driveway. Brad hops out and opens the passenger door in an uncharacteristically chivalrous move. He ushers me in with a thumb and a smirk. “Ridin’ backseat tonight, honey.”

There it is. If I didn’t know it already, that comment alone, compared to Wyn’s comment a few seconds ago, provides enormous insight into just how much these brothers differ.

Right down to the checking out of my ass when I crouch into the car’s interior and slip into the backseat.

“You driving, bro?” Wyn asks loudly. He must have clasped his brother’s shoulder pretty hard because I hear it before I see it. Brad wasn’t exactly disguising his inspection. Lucy must have noticed it, too, because she finds my eyes with a tight smile, then uncomfortably glances forward again in the passenger seat.

“My baby, my wheel,” Brad answers Wyn.

Wyn says, “That’s probably where your focus should be, good man,” before his gaze slides to me. “Make room, gorgeous, wide load coming through.”

Lucy says, “Wyn, take my spot and sit up front. I don’t need to—”

“You stay right where you are, babe.” Brad flashes his teeth in a menacing smile. “Wyn’s used to fitting in where he doesn’t belong.”

Amazing, how these boys can even turn a seating chart in a pickup truck into a pissing match.

Wyn doesn’t argue, instead he slams one large foot into the cab and gets in. I scoot over as much as I can, but in an impossibly small backseat, Wyn’s crushed up against me as soon as he settles in.

“I’m not squishing you, am I?” He throws an arm across the top of the seat. The tips of his fingers dangle near my opposite shoulder.

His wintergreen, woodsy sent hits me as soon as he gets comfortable. Combined with the hard length of him pressed up against my side, I’m squished, warm, and horny.

I turn my attention to the window before he can read anything on my face, but Brad decides it’s the perfect time to reverse and hit every pothole on the way out.

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