“I was close,” Klein says.
“When he was little we called him Spencer the Terrible because he was a rotten toddler.” I poke at the smirk on my brother’s face, the mischievous glint in his eyes. “He’s seventeen. Has no idea where he wants to go to college. Claims to be uninterested in higher education. Doesn’t do well making any meaningful conversation with adults.” A heavy breath slips from me. “He has a little bit of a Peter Pan thing going, and my mother doesn’t appear to care.” She’s too busy living her best life post-divorce.
Klein nods. “A refusal to grow up.”
“He claims to be waiting for the right time.”
Klein laughs and I elbow him. “See? You already like him. It’s kind of hard not to, even if a majority of interactionswith him consist of him grunting most of his responses or teasing people.”
“And your sister?”
“You’ve already met her.”
Klein looks down at me. He’s awfully close. “Yeah, but what about her? I’m going into this thinking she’s not a very good sister. Is that the case?”
I sigh heavily. “She’s... selfish. But I guess we all are, to a degree.”
“Some more than others,” he says amicably.
“She’s not a bad sister, though,” I hurry to defend. “I told her it was ok to date my ex.”
Klein doesn’t have a response. His gaze wanders away from my eyes, slipping down over my cheeks, lingering on my lips. Eventually he makes his way back to my eyes. His thorough inspection elicits a feeling deep in my belly, a coiled snake unraveling.
“Do I have something on my face?” I run my finger pads under my eyes, in case there is mascara built up underneath them.
“You’re perfect,” Klein says. Panic flips through his eyes when he realizes what he said. He steps back. “Your outfit, I mean. For what it’s worth, it looks nice on you.”
Try as I might, I can’t help feeling a bit of a glow at his compliment. Looking down, I smooth my hands over the mint green short-sleeved knit sweater dress I ended up pulling on. “Thanks,” I murmur. “It’s nothing.”
Klein has already turned away, but I swear the deep timbre of his thick voice mutters, “It’s something.”
CHAPTER 12
Paisley
Klein drives a late model 4runner.I spend the majority of the drive to his mom’s house learning about his mom and his childhood. We cover the basics, like where he went to high school (Chaparral), and his childhood pet (many, he says, but his favorite was a Corgi named Peanut).
“My mom is going to love you,” he cautions, slowing as he pulls up to the house and shifts into Park. “She is already way too invested in us fake dating.”
I turn sharply. “She knows?”
“Uh, yeah,” Klein rubs at his chin. “I guess I forgot to tell you I told her. Actually, my sister told her.”
“Here I was all afternoon getting myself worked up thinking about how I was going to meet my boyfriend’s mom and what level of physical touch that requires.” I blow out an annoyed breath. “I guess all that angst was for nothing.”
“There was angst?”
I give him a flat look. There’s no way I’ll be describing the tornado that is my room after all those outfit changes. “Please do not become stuck on my usage of the word.”
One side of Klein’s cheek tugs fractionally, and I take this to mean he would very much like for me to describe my mental distress. My arms cross. Too bad.
“I figured it was safe for my mom and sister to know the truth, considering the fake dating thing is for your benefit, not mine.”
“You have a point.”
He nudges me with his elbow across the center console. “You can still show me affection. I can tell you’re dying to, and I would never deny a woman what she so desperately wants.”
“Hah!” I send him my best withering look. He doesn’t wither; his eyes dance with laughter. “Touching only when it’s required, Madigan.”
