Page 90 of Really Truly Yours
“You said it would be ready today.”
He lifts a grease-smudged finger and wags it. “I said might be ready. I’m working on it, Syd. Maybe by Wednesday.”
“Sam!” Her foot stomps.
“Hey, I have to order another part!”
Fear grooves her perfect skin. “More money?”
Again this goofy kid slips me a glance that falls drastically short of inconspicuous. “Uh, no. No, this one’s covered already.” This time, it’s a conspiratorial wink that nearly blows our cover. In his mind, was it sly? Oh, brother.
Thankfully, Sydnee seems preoccupied with a thread from the sweater that’s snagged on her watchband.
Sam puts his palms through the open window and rests them on the rim of the door. “Oh, hey, I—”
Sweater forgotten, she knocks her brother’s hands away. “Sam, you’re going to get grease on the leather. Don’t you ever wash your hands?”
Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same all this time, but saying so felt kind of high maintenance.
She flashes me the sweetest, most needlessly apologetic smile ever. “Sorry.”
I grin. “No problem.”
In the time it took for sunshine to brighten her eyes, I went from neutral thoughts to imagining kissing her. When her gaze abruptly nosedives, I fear she might be a mind reader, which could easily land me in hot water with the lovely Sydnee.
Sam folds his arms. “So, you’re going to visit the old guy, huh?”
“Yes, we are.”
Sam crumples up his nose, the appeal of hanging with a sickly old man eluding him. He backs from the car, pointing two fingers at me. “Alrighty then. Don’t forget that autograph next time, Gray. Catch you later, Neenee.”
With a quick wave, I try not to laugh. Autograph? I’m closer to being a flash-in-the-pan has-been than any kind of superstar.
Sydnee slips into the passenger seat, immersing me in her scent. Dang it. How’s a guy supposed to keep his attraction in check with that floating around?
Sam guns it down the block. I set the car in reverse and back along the drive, eying the sagging house wearing a blue tarp for a hat in my rearview mirror. That could have been my life, and from my understanding, Donny’s life now is a step up.
“An autograph, huh?”
Rubbing my jaw, I let the musings fade. “Good one, right?”
Her pretty eyes become thin lines. “Is it hard being you?”
See, I knew she’d laugh.
But there’s a tidbit of true curiosity threading her flippancy. I check both ways at the street. “Only as hard as I make it on myself.” Last year is case in point.
Or, not reaching that far back, like, say, when I went behind Sydnee’s back and paid her brother for her car and for his silence. Smooth move, dude.
“What were you and Sam talking about, besides fame and glory? Did I see him wink at you?”
“Wink?”
“Yes, and he gave you a funny look. What did that mean?”
Ubba-dubba-dubba. “He’s your brother, Sydnee. You tell me.” At least I didn’t lie, right?
She sets her purse on the floorboard and settles in, slipping her arms through the folded sweater like it’s a winter wrap. “Who knows with Sam. He was obviously starstruck.” Humor laces her words.