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“It’s okay,” I repeat, sharper this time. “You have nothing to explain or be sorry for.”
Her pale gray-blue eyes meet mine.
I give her an encouraging nod, infusing as much sincerity in my expression as I can so she knows I mean it.
And then she blurts, “I got asked out on a date last week.”
My eyes widen.
That’s…not what I was expecting.
She hunches her shoulders, and starts picking at a napkin on the table, tearing it up. “A friend of the guy Hollie’s crushing on.”
“How old is he?”
She rolls her eyes. “Sixteen.”
I shake my head. “You’re too young.”
She glares at me.
Shit. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.
Still, while I should probably feel bad, I don’t. I’d much rather her pissed off at me than looking all crushed and lost like she was a second ago.
“Seriously? You’re one to talk.”
I open my mouth, but she cuts me off.
“And if you say it’s because I’m a girl, I’ll sic Ivy on you.” She flashes a tight grin.
I hold up my hands. “I was just going to say, it’s because you’re my sister. This is all sort of…new territory for me.”
She makes a soft noise of acknowledgment at that. “Well, get used to it.”
Blowing out a long breath, I nod.
Right. Easy fuckin’ peasy.
Shifting on my seat, I work my jaw, debating how to go about this. I low-key regret sending Shawn away now. He’s much better at dealing with this shit. I’m the pushover. The good cop. I’m the one she bats those big puppy dog eyes at, and before I know it I’m handing over the keys to my truck to a fifteen year old.
Okay, not really. But I’m far more likely to cave to her wild whims and impulses, versus the hard ass that is Shawn. He’s not driven by a guilty, people-pleasing complex.
Hell, even Waylon has no problem reasoning with Phoebe. Hearing her out, and talking her down. He’s very much of thedo as I say, not what I domentality, and for whatever reason she respects him for it.
We all deal with our abandonment issues differently, clearly.
Shawn repels, Waylon acts out, and I cling desperately.
It’s just how we were built.
“Well,” I say carefully, knowing I need to wade through these unfamiliar waters delicately, “it’s not like this kid proposed. He liked your shirt, and clearly thought you were pret—”
“I turned him down.” She waves a hand. “Kyle, I mean. The boy from back home. I said no to going out with him.”
“Okay…” My eyes narrow on hers.
Her lips purse and she stares at me with that annoyed, exasperated look of hers that tells me I’m missing something big here.
