I grab my silk blue shirt. “This is fine, I guess.” I put it over my head and pull the thin clingy fabric over my boobs.
“Looks good to me,” Dylan says with a grin as he returns from the bathroom and grabs a pair of boxer briefs out of the drawer.
I laugh as I pull on a pair of underwear and my blue jeans. “Is there a department store on the way?”
“I doubt it. We’re not passing any malls.”
I look away. I’m still feeling a bit weepy, and I’d really like to wear perfume.
Dylan eyes me steadily. “Do you need something at the store, babe?”
I force a smile. “It can wait.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.”
I step into my sandals, grab my purse, and we head downstairs.
* * *
“I told you my brother and I look nothing alike.” Dylan laughs as I try to touch his crotch while he drives. “He’ll like you, though.”
“I hope they all like me.” I pull down the mirror and look into it anxiously.
I take my hairbrush out of my purse and start on my hair for the third time this trip.
“I mean he’ll like you.” Dylan doesn’t sound like himself when he says it.
I wince. “You already said something to that effect earlier. What do you mean?”
“Matt and I have always liked different types of women,” Dylan says. “But I’ve never introduced him to a woman like you before. Someone I love. And he’s always been super competitive.”
“This picnic is sounding more and more appealing.”
“Sorry.” Dylan reaches over and touches my leg. “There’s a reason my cousins are more like my brothers than my own is. Matt and I have a tenuous history at best. You’ll see.”
“I can’t wait.” I grit my teeth and go back to brushing my hair.
* * *
When we get to the picnic area, nobody is in sight. The lack of paparazzi is a relief; the absence of Dylan’s family, however, confuses me.
“They’re not here?” I shield my eyes with my hand to look around.
“Not a surprise,” Dylan says. “They’re not the most punctual folks.”
After waiting for fifteen minutes, during which time we alternate between kissing and cracking jokes, a Mercedes-Benz pulls up behind our car.
“Here they are.” Dylan stands up, and I follow him to the car.
I’m so nervous my palms are sweating, and I desperately try to wipe them on my pants before his parents fully emerge from the car.
When his brother gets out from the driver’s side, I’m more than a little surprised. I guess I’d assumed his father would be driving.
Matt comes up to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. His hair is dark like Dylan’s, but he’s shorter, and bulkier. And skankier. I can tell before he even opens his mouth.
“You’re not Dylan’s type,” he says.
I think he means it as a joke, but his shades are so dark I can’t see his eyes, and this throws me off completely. I need to be able to look into somebody’s eyes to tell how I feel about them.
