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“Last minute change of plans.”
“Brooklyn—there you are.”
My eyes track to a tall brunette. This must be Drew. She’s got to be close to six feet tall. I’ll bet she plays basketball. Or maybe she’s a long-lost Osmond sister. I don’t think I’ve seen teeth that white on anyone else. I manage to smile at her and avoid voicing my thoughts. Nothing would be more pitiful than extending my hand and greeting her with the lamest of lame observations, “you must be Drew.”
“Oh. Drew, this is—”
“You must be Carter.”
I’m not sure if I want to scream, vomit, run, or punch her in the face. I grin and bear it. “That would be me.”
“Brooklyn’s told me a lot about you,” Drew says.
Has she? Funny. She hasn’t said anything about you. I pivot to my humor. “I’ll be going—”
“Stop it,” Brooklyn says.
“It’s all been good,” Drew tells me.
I can’t tell if Drew is sincere or if she’s dripping so much sincerity, she’s insincere. I hate that. Where is Ali? Or Dixon? Can’t anyone save me?
“Drew’s parents are having a get-together,” Brooklyn explains. “They live in Fairfield.”
The first thought that pops into my head is that Brooklyn has met Drew’s parents. None of my business. I shake it off. Dixon lives in Madison, half way between my house and Brooklyn’s sister’s. Fairfield is a hop, skip, and a jump from both of us. My thoughts turn to how Brooklyn met Drew. Is she a family friend?
“Carter?”
Brooklyn’s voice snaps me back to the present. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little tired.”
“You’re not getting sick again, are you?” Brooklyn asks.
Maybe I should say yes. “No.”
Drew leans closer to Brooklyn. “We probably should hit the road.”
Brooklyn’s strained smile tells me she’s uncomfortable with Drew’s affection. I wonder if that’s because of me. It’s probably because I’m acting uncomfortable. I need to remedy that. “It was nice meeting you,” I say. Lame. God, that was lame.
“You too, Carter,” Drew says.
“Why don’t you get the car?” Brooklyn suggests to Drew.
Drew looks at her, then at me, and nods. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again sooner or later,” Drew says.
God, I hope not. “I’m sure.” I don’t mean to, but I release a sigh of relief when Drew walks away.
“Carter—”
“I hope you have a great Christmas,” I say.
Brooklyn’s eyes search mine. It makes me uneasy—and a little queasy. Knowing Brooklyn was seeing someone was hard. Seeing it up close is next to unbearable.
“Yeah. You too,” Brooklyn replies. She starts to walk away.
Shit. “I have something for you,” I tell her.
Brooklyn turns back.
“It’s in Dixon’s garage.”
