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EMERY
“Took your damn time,” I say, sliding into the immaculate black SUV that August just pulled up in. It looks like he just got it detailed, which is absurd since we’re going on an eight-hour road trip to our newly married parents’ cabin in Utah. Shit is about to get dirty.
But that’s just how he is, perfectionist to the core. Drives me crazy.
He even looks crisp and fresh in his grey college hoodie, fitted jeans, and aviator sunglasses.
I look down at my slightly wrinkled Ramones t-shirt and ripped jeans that I haven’t washed in probably over a week and cringe.
I am nowhere in his league.
Life is unfair and cruel.
I sigh and pull my cherry sucker from my mouth and wave it at him.
“You said you’d be here at ten.”
He eyeballs me and then looks at my unbuckled seatbelt.
“I’m here five minutes late. Had to get gas. And since when are you ever on time?”
“I’m a work in progress. Ask my therapist. He’s proud of all the strides I’ve made this year. Would you like his number? The two of you could chat.”
August closes his eyes and slowly shakes his head, in what I perceive to be subtle irritation, and then says, “Buckle up, please.”
I pop the sucker back in my mouth and quickly click in. Then I lean forward and shuffle through my overstuffed duffle bag full of rumpled clothes and snacks.
Shit. Lex stole my Sour Patch Kids. Asshole. He always takes the good stuff. Kid is an even bigger sugar fiend than me. One time he stole my king-size bag of Smarties and consumed theentire thingin a matter of hours. I found wrappers around the apartment for days. I even found one in my sock. Don’t know how it got there. Don’t really want to know.
“Want a snack?” I smile broadly, holding up a bag of Skittles. “I don’t really want to share, but I gotta try and be nice. My therapist says to make an effort.”
Will do, Dr. K.
Will do.
August glances at me and shakes his head. “No. I have my own stuff.”
I snort. Sucks for him but that means more for me.
“What kind of stuff? Let me guess…granola bars? Avocados? Protein powder? Quinoa?”
August eyeballs me again and says, “That’s not how you pronounce it.”
I just roll my eyes in response and grab my phone.
“Okay, Mr. Linguist. Whatever you say.” My eyes fly to the recently fixed touch screen as I pull up my music app, and my eyebrows meet. “What is this shit you’re listening to, by the way?”
“I’m guessing from your tone of voice that you don’t like it.”
I shrug, popping the sucker from my mouth. “Well, yeah, I mean it kind of sucks but we can’t all be cool,” I say with a grin. “Mind if I connect my phone and I can play us something that’sactually music. Lex made us a playlist for the trip. Said it would really get us in the mood, whatever that means.”
August runs a hand through his hair, and then shoves his aviators up into it and it still manages to look fucking perfect. His hair doesn’t even rumple. All I have to do is sneeze, and my hair is suddenly sideways.
“Sure. Fine. Go ahead,” he says with quiet exasperation.
I push a few buttons, and a moment later, music starts filtering through the speakers.
We listen in silence for a moment, my head bobbing to the smooth, sensual beat, and then I snort when it dawns on me.
