Page 65 of A Little Secret
Sometimes too small, I think to myself, but only nod as my Aunt Mia opens the door and pulls Ophelia and Raine into hugs.
Minutes later, Maverick’s little sister appears. Ponytail swinging, the middle schooler jogs toward us with an awkward wave and climbs into the backseat.
“Hey, Squeaks!” I greet her.
“Never gonna live the nickname down, am I?” she grumbles.
I grin back at her. “Probably not. But hey, I say own it.”
“Own me being a whiner?” She rolls her eyes and pulls her phone out. “Gee, thanks.”
Giving me a side glance, Dylan mumbles under her breath, “Teenagers.”
She’s not wrong.
The back door opens, cutting off my response as Ophelia and Raine join us in the car.
“You good if we pick up Tatum, too?” Ophelia asks. She leans forward and grabs a cookie from the container. “I know we’ll have to squeeze, but my mom can’t drop her off.”
“No worries,” Dylan says. “We have time.”
“Honestly, I’m surprised she’s still coming,” Lia admits. “The girl’s been a recluse since…” Her attention darts to Rory, and she sniffs quietly before setting the uneaten cookie on her thigh as if she’s lost her appetite. It makes my chest ache. I don’t miss the sheen in Lia’s caramel-colored eyes or the way she pastes on a fake-ass smile as she shoves her emotions deep inside her. “So? Who wants to listen to some music?”
Aaaand, that’s my cue.
I reach for the knob and turn up the volume.
Thirty minutes later, the cookies are gone, and Tatum’s squished to one side of the cab, her shoulder pressed against the back passenger window as we make our way toward Rowdy’s. To say the car is eerily tense would be an understatement, and it takes everything inside me not to poke the bear or stir up shit simply for the sake of acknowledging it.
Hey, Tatum, how’s the broken heart?
Hey, Squeaks, why have you been MIA? It’s kind of lame, but no worries. Happens to us all.
Yeah, I can think of a dozen ways to spark the gasoline-soaked tension. Instead, I keep my lips zipped as Dylan’s knee bounces up and down like the Energizer Bunny. At least I’m not Ophelia. Despite the literal buffer in the form of Squeaks and Raine, Tatum looks like she could stab Lia a billion times, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
Yikes.
As Dylan brakes at the stoplight, a motorcycle pulls up beside us, and Ophelia sighs. If I had to guess, she’s probably thinking about Mav and their daily rides on his bike. I don’t blame her. There’s definitely something to be said about a man on a motorcycle. I fight the urge to fan myself and announce it to the car, well aware it’ll only piss Tatum off more.
Peeking over my shoulder toward Tatum’s passenger window, I notice the guy’s wearing a leather jacket and a black helmet with the visor pulled down, shielding his face from me. I don’t need to see it to know he isn’t looking at me, though.
Nope. The guy’s attention is glued to Tatum. He lifts his chin as if to say hey, then motions to his face and draws a frowny face before pointing at her window again.
Is he trying to talk to her?
The cab of the car stays quiet, none of us wanting to spook an already grouchy Tatum. When he raises his hand and makes a fist, lifting it three times then doing a sideways peace sign, I realize he’s offering to play Rock, Paper, Scissors. I shift in my seat and steal a quick look at Tatum, curious if she’s being stubborn or giving this stranger the time of day.
No luck.
Interesting.
The light’s still red as I turn my attention back to the side mirror and the mysterious biker’s reflection. He makes another fist, and Tatum smiles in my periphery. Okay, smile might be a bit of a stretch, but still. Raising her fist into view, she gives in with a one, two, three. She flattens her hand into paper, and the guy shows rock, throwing his head back and shaking it in defeat. He lost. Paper covers rock. His helmet swivels toward Tatum again, leaving me on pins and needles, and I’m not even the onehe’s paying attention to. Like seriously. Damn. Slowly, he draws an imaginary smile in the air and gives her a thumbs-up as if making her promise to smile every once in a while. Then, his hand finds the throttle on his bike, and he disappears down the road, his engine whirring and fading in a flash.
“Well, that was…interesting,” I decide. “Do you know him, Tate?”
The soft lift of her lips flattens, and she shakes her head, leaning against the window.
“You don’t, but I think I might,” Raine mutters as her fingers fly across her phone screen.