“What’s so funny?” Camden asks from the back seat.
“Nothing I can share with you. It’s a girl secret,” I insist, spinning around in my seat as best I can, considering I’m strapped in. My brother’s eyes are a touch glassy, but he’s definitely not nearly as intoxicated as I am.
Quinn climbs in the driver’s seat and starts the truck. “Ready, kids?”
“Try not to wreck and kill us,” I blurt out, even though I know he’s a safe driver.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes.
“You do that, Mr. Uber.” Again, that makes me giggle.
Man, I didn’t realize how funny I am…
“Gonna be a long ride to her place,” Camden mutters, halting my laughter.
Glancing back, I state, “I think we should have a sing-along.”
“No.” My brother narrows his eyes, hoping this’ll be the end of this particular conversation. Unfortunately for him, it will not.
“Q, cue up some Backstreet Boys.” And then I giggle again at my little funny. Q…cue. Get it?
“Umm, sorry, no Backstreet Boys in here,” Quinn informs me without even trying.
I huff out a deep breath and start flipping through satellite radio. “I can’t believe the Backstreet Boys don’t have their own channel. Like Backstreet all the time.”
Quinn cracks the faintest hint of a smile. “That sounds terrible.”
“Thank you!” my brother hollers from the back seat.
“Oh, you zip it.” Then, I start belting out the lyrics to my favorite song. When I glance back and he’s not singing with me, I stop and narrow my eyes. “Why aren’t you singing?”
“Because I’m not four.”
“You loved this song, sang it with me all the time!”
“I. Was. Four.” His words are practically a growl.
Ignoring his negativity, I continue singing, knowing he’ll jump in when I get to the chorus. That was always his favorite part, and he’d start dancing just like Nick, AJ, Brian, Howie, and Kevin did in the music video. I start to move, singing at the top of my lungs and pretending I’m a backup dancer on stage.
I fling my arms, whacking Quinn in the side of the head. “Jeez, Charli, watch it,” he says, ducking his head and trying to get away from me.
“Oops!” I stop singing and laugh.
Unfortunately, the sing-along comes to an end because we reach my condo. It’s a nice two-bedroom, two-bath place not too far from where Quinn lives. My neighbors own both units,an older couple who moved into town after living in the country most of their married life. They wanted to be closer to everything and have less yard and house to maintain and rented the other unit to me after they closed.
“Let’s go,” Camden mutters, climbing from the back seat.
“He’s just mad because I outed him for singing the Backstreet Boys when he was little,” I say, suddenly feeling very tired. I close my eyes, unable to keep them open.
“Charli?”
“Hmm?”
I hear Quinn’s gravelly chuckle, followed by a door opening and closing. He starts talking, but I’m having a hard time processing it. I just need sleep.
But then another door is opened and a wave of air slaps me across the face. It feels amazing, and I find myself turning toward the coolness.
“Come on, Charli.” It’s Quinn’s voice and his hands that carefully help me from the front seat.
