Page 8 of Bordeaux Bombshell
“Um, I guess not.” He frowns, and I bite back a snarky reply while he takes a pull of his beer. “Girls just usually don’t say things like that.”
I shrug. “I always had to keep up with my older brother and his friends. I learned early to be funny if I didn’t want to get left out. And I’m a fully grown woman, not a girl.”
“Uh. Right.” GBT leans back, copying my pose by crossing his arms over his barrel chest. After a second, he grimaces, then pulls out several napkins from the holder on the end of the table. He tips his undrunk glass of water over the pile, then wipes his hands with the wet napkins.
Against my better judgment, I compare them to Nate’s long fingers. There isn’t a chance in hell I would let those sauce-covered digits anywhere near my pussy. I’d probably end up with a yeast infection.
We limp along for a little while longer, the conversation stilted until the server catches my look of desperation and brings us the check. As we sign our receipts, we mutually agree this isn’t going anywhere, that we won’t call each other, and there will not be a second date.
Stupid fucking Nate is still on my mind when I pull out of the parking lot. Is it more unforgivable to be a coward or disgusting? At least Nate doesn’t make mouth noises as he chews. I slap my palm against my steering wheel with an angry grunt. Irefuseto give him mental kudos for having decent manners. He’s still undesirable number one. Forever.
I’m halfway home when my phone lights up with my brother’s name. Answering, I grimace at my nephew’s wails coming through the speaker. “I really wish you’d called me thirty minutes ago. What’s up? Is Jordan okay?”
“I don’t suppose you could come stay here with Olive while Maggie and I take him to urgent care, could you? I’m pretty sure it’s an ear infection, but Tylenol isn’t helping his fever, and Maggie and I would rather not drag her with us if we can help it.” Trust Kel not to beat around the bush. It’s easy to forget about the years he spent as an emergency room nurse before going to culinary school, but the assurance in his voice is audible even over his infant son’s wails.
“Absolutely. On my way for a sleepover with my favorite niece. Tell Olive to get into her jammies and pick out a movie.”
I hang a right instead of a left at the next intersection and pray for green lights. The traffic gods smile at me, and I make it there in record time. A frazzled Maggie opens the door at my knock, her brown hair tied up in a messy bun, her gray T-shirt dottedwith wet spots, and a tired smile on her face. Jordan is draped over her shoulder, grumbling and hiccupping as she bounces.
“Oh, you look nice. You weren’t on a date, were you? Oh god, I’m so sorry!”
I wave her off, stepping inside and peering at Jordan’s miserable little face. “Oh, poor thing. And you didn’t interrupt—I was already on my way home.”
I kick off my heels by the door, dropping my purse on the small table beneath the coat hooks. Right as I hang my jacket up, Olive barrels into me, wrapping her arms around my hips. “Hi, Aunt Sydney.”
Kel is two steps behind her, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re a lifesaver, Syd.” He eyes his daughter, who’s twisting from side to side, taking me with her. “She has some math homework to finish before she’s allowed to watch anything. And bedtime is still eight thirty, whether we’re home or not.”
“Ugh, not math. I hope you can teach it to me, Pickle, ’cause I’m terrible at it.” I wink at Kel over her head, and he hides a grin, knowing I was the one who tutored both him and Nate through Algebra II their senior year. “Go ahead, we’ll get it done and be in bed on time. I promise. Just keep me updated.”
“You can borrow some sweats if you want,” Maggie calls over her shoulder as she heads outside, Kel already opening the passenger door for her. “Clean ones are in the second drawer.”
“Thanks,” I call back, waving them off.
Olive tugs on my hand, pulling me through the house. “Come on.”
“What’s the homework?” I glance at the kitchen, making a mental note to clean up the dirty plates that are piled in the sink, along with some pots and pans.
“Multiplication.” Olive makes a face as she pulls out a chair at the dining table, a worksheet already on the table in front of her. “I’m almost done, though.”
“Do you need help or just company while you finish?” I slide into the seat beside her, peeking at the sheet. There are only two rows of equations left, and she’s already answered two while we’ve been talking.
“Just company. And maybe help if it’s a seven times table. I always forget those ones.” Her brown curls bounce while she writes, a contrast to the sandy blond that Kel and I share. Her mom, June, has the same hair, but Olive has Kel’s nose and chin. And the extreme self-confidence that Kel, June, me and now Maggie have been encouraging since she was a baby.
She finishes the math problems in less than fifteen minutes, then bops over to the TV, where she subjects me to some Disney Channel show that feels an awful lot like every other show I watched as a kid, before getting ready for bed.
There was a time in my life I thought she would have a cousin or two to play with by now. Instead, the poor kid just gets screw-up Aunt Sydney, who can’t get a second date or afford a place with a backyard.
But I do killer voices when I read out loud from her book, and I stay snuggled on the bed until she falls asleep, so I guess I’m good for something after all.
Sydney
ages 19 and 22
Ineverexpectedhimto show up. Especially since he didn’t listen to pop music, and I’d had to bribe Kel to come with me—before he bailed, anyway. But there he was, grimacing as he plowed through the crowd to get to me.
“You came.” I cringed at how stupid I sounded, but I was so relieved not to be alone at this concert that I said the first thing that popped into my head.
Nate shrugged, hands shoved deep in his jeans pockets. “Kel called.”
