“It’s OK, you can say you’re their favorite. I actually really like being first runner-up. There’s so much less pressure. Plus, if you die first, I get the title anyway, so it all works out.”
“Mom and Dad are the ones freaking out.” She lowers her voice. “They’ve been trying to make sure everything is perfect for the return of their prodigal daughter, and now that you’re running a little late, they’re worried that you’ll no-show on them.”
There it is. Proof that I’m the black fly in their chardonnay. Proof that my presence, or lack thereof, throws off the entire family balance. But most of all, proof that they don’t trust me.
“Tell them I’m going to be there, Phoebe. OK?”
“I will.” She pauses, and I worry for a second that she still doesn’t believe me. “There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Falon and I have some really big news.” The excitement in her voice is palpable through the phone.
“If the news is that you’re engaged, everyone already knows.”
“It’s not that. It’s different. A little scary, but exciting. We want everyone to be here when we share it.”
“I’ll be there,” I say. “I promise.”
A clap of thunder breaks over the car, and Aidan lets out a yelp. Smith mouths Help, and I realize that Aidan’s earlier freak-out is slowly morphing into an all-out panic meltdown. Damn Mercury in retrograde.
“I got to go,” I say. “Smith needs my help.”
“Smith?”
“Uh.” I cringe, hating myself for bringing him into the conversation. “Yeah. Smith’s in my rideshare.”
“Your Smith?” Phoebe nearly chokes. “You’re in a van with your Smith?”
“He isn’t my Smith,” I hiss. “But yes, Smith Mackenzie is in my van.”
“I better cut Dad off now. When he finds out that Smith is in the same car with you, he’s going to lose it.”
A pit settles into my stomach. I’ve been so preoccupied with the chaos of being in a van with my ex-husband that I haven’t had a chance to consider the potential anarchy that will happen if my dad sees Smith and me together. The two of them were never exactly BFFs when Smith and I were a couple, and I may have made Smith look less than favorable—read: a complete asshole—when I told them about the divorce. My father is usually a Southern gentleman, but I have a feeling that chivalry doesn’t extend to ex-husbands. I think that’s what ass whoopings are typically reserved for down south.
“He’s not going to know.” I lower my voice. “You weren’t even supposed to know. Nobody has to know at all. OK?”
“If you say so.” Her voice is laced with intrigue. “I am curious, though.”
“About what?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“It’s just . . . you know.” I can practically see the wry smile that matches mine taking shape on her face. “You’ve never really gotten over him.”
“That’s not true.” Heat rises across my skin. “Why would you say that? How could you possibly think that?”
“You just loved him so much. You’d talk about him for hours and go on and on about—”
The van makes an abrupt, sharp stop, jerking my body forward. My phone slips from my hands, and slides under the seat in front of me. I scramble to pick it up, my fingers fumbling over the screen, which is just out of reach.
“Sorry,” Aidan says between rapid breaths. “My foot slipped.”
“It’s fine, Aidan. Maybe you should put in—”
“And how great the sex was.” My sister’s voice blares from underneath the seat. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I must’ve hit the damn speaker button. “I mean, he was never exactly my cup of tea for obvious reasons, but you worshipped his abs like some kind of—”
“Phoebe!” I shriek, shoving my face as far as it will go underneath the seat. “Stop talking!”
“Don’t get me wrong. Martin seems great, and while I don’t understand the appeal of a bulging—”
The van goes silent, and for a second, I wonder if it’s possible I have just died of humiliation. There’s a tap on my shoulder, which feels too informal a greeting for heaven or hell.
“It was a lot easier to get your phone from this side of the seat.” Smith’s lips are in a tight line that will likely break into a shit-eating grin at any moment. “I went ahead and hung up for you too.”
“Thanks,” I manage to squeak out. “I appreciate that.”
“Anything else I can do for you down there?”
“No. I’m going to take a couple of minutes and wait for a lightning bolt to put me out of my suffering.”
“The rubber in the tires might make that a hard wish to deliver. How about I go back up front and pretend I didn’t hear anything?”
“Sounds lovely.”
“If it makes you feel any better, you distracted Aidan from googling the odds of dying on a bridge in a hurricane.”
“We’re not in a hurricane,” I mumble.
“We could be!” Aidan shouts. “And let me tell you, the odds are not looking good, folks.”
“I’m going to go back up there.” He lowers his mouth to my ear. “And I’m taking my abs with me.”
“That’s not pretending you didn’t hear anything,” I growl.
“I didn’t mention a word about the great sex.”
An icy shiver runs down my spine, tingling every hair on my body. I know that shiver. It’s the kind of shiver that leads to feelings in areas of my body that have no business feeling anything about anyone in this van right now.
I grab my purse and hole up in the back seat with one of the advance reader copies my publisher sent me. My brain is a jumbled mess of emotions firing at breakneck speed, so I don’t actually expect myself to focus on reading. I just need a physical barrier between me and Smith and his abs. I skim the front and back cover of the book. It’s a regency romance, which isn’t normally my vibe, but since our romance bookstore will carry all subgenres, I want to stretch my reading palate. I crack the book open and turn to the first page. Sweat glistened like morning dew on the admiral’s taut abdominals. I close the book and chuck it back in my purse.
Maybe a romance novel isn’t the best buffer. Maybe Aidan has a nice car manual he can loan me instead. There shouldn’t be any mentions of abs or sex in a car manual, right? I need something to get me through the next two miles of this bridge, and I’m too scared to pick up my phone again. I always thought technology would be the downfall of society; I just didn’t realize it was going to start with my phone subjecting me to public humiliation. Between the fog and the rain, you can barely see the bay through the window, which means counting sailboats isn’t an option. I could try to sleep, but occasionally I talk in my sleep, and the last thing I need is for my subconscious to embarrass me further.
All of a sudden, all three of our cell phones emit an awful warning sound that makes it feel like the end of the world is upon us. Harriet and Ozzie take turns barking and whimpering, which is only slightly drowned out by Aidan’s panicked breathing.
“It’s just a storm update,” Smith says calmly. “No need to panic.”
“What does it say?” Aidan’s face is about four shades paler than I remember it being at the start of our trip. “Does it say that we’re in a hurricane? This feels like a hurricane to me, don’t you agree?”
“We’re not in a hurricane,” Smith says. “The alert just says that there’s a severe thunderstorm and we should expect travel delays.”
“That’s it?” Aidan’s voice is shrill. “What incompetent institution is in charge of sending those alerts out? I could’ve looked out the window and told you that. How severe does it say the storm is? Like on a scale of one to ten, how close are we to dying in this thing?”
“We’re not going to die, buddy.” Smith pats Aidan’s shoulder.