I’m hopeful. Maybe someday it’ll be my turn, though it feels like I’ve been waiting forever. A stolen kiss from a lab partner in high school is all of my dating and sexual history. No one’s ever made my stomach flutter. No one’s ever really turned me on.
One day…
I sigh, slip Easton’s fob into the pocket of my cutoffs, and head out to look for them. With each step in my Chucks, dust and sand puff up around my calves until I reach the convenience store door.
The bell over my head jingles, and I start toward the register. Soon enough, I catch the top of Bronwyn’s head. A few aisles over, she and Easton bend together, whispering.
Strange. They’re not looking at the shelves. Not browsing. They haven’t even noticed me walking in.
The sixth sense I’ve always dismissed as a myth stirs awake. It tells me they’re talking about me. Its whisper is ugly, convincing me that maybe they only asked me to come along to stock up on fresh ammunition. More reasons to laugh at my expense.
I tread over there silently, praying I’m wrong about this.
“Babe, we already talked about it,” Easton says. “We have to.”
How dare he scold her? A scowl tugs at my features, my worries set aside.
I’m about to tell him my sister doesn’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to when she groans.
“Yes, we did.” She sounds like she’s rolling her eyes, not like a doormat. Pride washes over me. “Last supper. Last fucking supper.”
Huh? Last supper?What last supper?
Both their heads snap in my direction.
Shit, I said that out loud.
Shame sets fire to my body and simultaneously drains the blood from my face.
“Skylar?” Bronwyn rises on her tiptoes, smiling when she finds me.
She’s happy to have me here.
And I doubted her.
Fuck.
“That’s me,” I rasp, frozen where I stand. “Over here.”
“Hey.” She walks toward me, Easton following close behind.
They both pat down their jeans and T-shirts, looking even guiltier than I feel.
But why? They were just talking while I spun myself into crazy conspiracy theories.
When they stop in front of me, neither says a word. Easton narrows his blue eyes at me, running a hand through his short blond hair again and again.
Suspicious. I lean in as close as I can to talk to my sister. “What’s going on, Bronwyn? Are you okay? Do we need an escape plan?”
“Escape plan? From Easton?” A cold laugh slips past her lips. “No, Sis. I was just?—”
“I was hungry.” In four long strides, Easton’s suddenly less than a foot from us instead of minding his own business. “I’m starving. Bronny’s been helping me pick an early supper, something she doesn’t consider trash.”
Early supper. Not thelast supper.
What a relief to know I misheard the strange and ominous term.
“That’s right.” She grins at him.
