Page 94 of You Had Me At Thirteen

‘Hey.’ Carla swats my hand away. ‘That’s my favourite song.’

‘You have horrible taste.’

‘Whatever little cousin, I know you secretly love it.’

‘No, trust me, I don’t.’

Carla bops her head to the next song that comes on while I zone out. We’re on our way to the hospital to sort out the next step for Mum to be comfortable at home.

When Carla called me while I was getting my dick sucked, I let it go to voicemail, calling her back as soon as I turned to chicken shit. Anyway, Carla had arrived, and was ringing to tell me she’d dropped Mum at the hospital for more tests, so she’d swing by the school to pick me up.

There is no-one I trust more than Carla to make sure Mum is well looked after. Just thinking about it makes me want to lose my shit, or vomit, so I take a deep breath instead. All I want to do is wrap myself in Matilda and forget everything else going on in my life, but we’re both too stubborn to admit we’re wrong.

‘So…’ Carla says, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. ‘That’s Matilda.’

‘Yes, what’s your point?’

‘You didn’t tell me she’s fucking gorgeous.’ Carla’s eyes bug out of her head in exaggerated shock.

I blow out a breath as I scrub my hands over my face. ‘You have no idea.’

Carla’s eyes land on me. ‘You’re in love with her.’ It’s not a question.

‘Pay attention to your horrible driving and mind your business.’

‘Oh. My. God. Youarein love with her. Will you look at that? My baby cousin is finally in love. And here I thought you were just going to be man-slut for the rest of your life.’ Carla wiggles in her seat, acting like an immature child unable to sit still.

I give her the side eye. ‘You know nothing. Now leave it alone.’

‘Why? Because she’s mad at you? What did you do?’

‘Nothing. You could have at least told her who you were.’

‘Me? How is Matilda being mad at you, my fault?’

I throw my hands up. ‘Because she thinks something is going on between us.’

Carla snorts. ‘Did she say that? Plus, gross.’

‘No shit. But, no she didn’t say it. She was thinking it, though.’

‘So, you’re a mind reader now?’

Pushing my fingers into my eye sockets, I sink further into the seat. ‘Can we talk about something else?’

‘Does she know?’

‘Know what?’

‘That you’re in love with her, idiot. What else?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What do you mean you don’t know? Either you’ve told her, or you haven’t, Wren.’

I blow out a breath. ‘I haven’t told her, but we’ve done… stuff.’

Christ. I sound like a hormonal teenager trying to explain his first time. Since when do I stumble over my words when talking about sex?

---