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“Easy on the matchmaking,” I warn. “He might want to go home, you know.”
“No. He said he was coming with us.” She glances over at his bike and waves. He’s busy talking to Melissa now. Arms folded over his chest, nodding at whatever she’s saying as he backs away, clearly trying to wrap up the conversation.
“She’s got a thing for younger men, Emily.” Libby lifts her chin at them and snickers. “You should go stake your claim.”
“When did you turn into such a brat?” I bend over, grab her bag off the ground, and toss it in the back seat. “Get in the car.”
Still laughing, she sits in the passenger seat but doesn’t close the door.
“Brat,” I grumble again, marching over to Dex and Melissa.
As soon as I’m close enough, he slips his arm around my waist, drawing me closer. “Everything okay?” A hint of humor colors his question.
I tip my head to the side and stare up at him. “I think so. We’re going to run home so she can pick up a few things before we meet everyone at the pizza place.”
“Oh good!” Melissa claps her hands. “I know how much Caroline and Mel were hoping you’d let Libby come to the sleepover.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Has Libby complained to her friends that I’m smothering her too? Somehow, I manage to plaster a tight smile on my face and mumble something pleasant.
Melissa makes sure we know which restaurant we’re meeting at, then toddles over to Frank, who thankfully seems to be the one driving them.
“I feel like I wandered onto the set of some suburban reality nightmare show,” Dex says against my ear. “More drama with the parents than on that stage.”
I snort and pull away from him. “You don’t have to come with us. I don’t even want to go.”
He glances over my shoulder toward my car. “I already told Libby I would. It seems important to her.”
“Yeah, she accused me of punishing her for the accident,” I grumble, still a bit stung from that comment. “Because I haven’t let her hang out with her friends.”
He squeezes my shoulder. “I think you’ve been the hardest on yourself,” he says gently. “Punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.” Longing and so many unspoken words hang in the air.
Why do I feel like crying all of a sudden?
“I’m, uh, going to run her home so she can pack a few things.” I take a breath and lift my gaze to his face. “She asked if you wanted to leave your bike at our house so you could ride with us?”
He stares straight ahead like he’s considering a few answers. “Nah, that’s all right. The place isn’t that far from my apartment. I’m going to drop my bike off and walk over.”
“This late?”
He steps back and holds his arms out. “I’m not exactly worried about getting mugged.”
I chuckle. “You’ve got a point.”
“I’ll save us a table.” He hesitates, like he’s about to ask me something, then shakes his head. “Hurry.”
“Yeah,” I roll my eyes skyward, “I wouldn’t want to leave you in Tipsy Melissa’s clutches for too long.”
Instead of laughing, he shrugs. Like it may or may not be a valid concern. I frown at him. He stares at me and slowly lifts his eyebrows, as if issuing a challenge.
I’m not going to play that game with him. If he wants to hook up with a drunk mom, he can go right ahead. I don’t care. Liar, liar, dress on fire.
“I’ll see you there.” I spin around and march back to the car.
“What’s wrong?” Libby asks when I slide behind the wheel.
“Nothing. Dex is going to meet us there.”
“Oh.” She glances out the window. “Maybe we shouldn’t stop home.”
“Why?” I twist the key in the ignition.
“We shouldn’t make him wait too long.”
She really sounds worried. “He’s an adult, Libby. He’ll be fine.”
“I wasn’t kidding about Mel’s mom,” she insists. Why does my sister know so much about her friends’ parents?
I snort a humorless laugh and shift the car into reverse. “I doubt he’s interested.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Libby,” I warn. “I understand that you want Dex and me to get back together. But—and I say this with love—mind your own business. And don’t go behind my back to invite him to stuff again. I didn’t appreciate being blindsided.”
“I didn’t go behind your back.” Her voice hovers close to outrage. “He already said he would come. It would’ve been rude not to give him the day and time.”
“Sure. Now you’re Miss Manners,” I grumble, hating that I’m allowing myself to get dragged into a petty sister squabble.
“Not everything’s about you, Em.”
I don’t have to glance over to know she punctuated that zinger with a proud chin lift.
We’re both silent until I pull into the driveway. She munches on her brownie, and I squash the urge to scold her for spraying crumbs all over my car.
