Supercharged Love(15)

“I guess you’re right,” she concedes and pulls a dress out of her closet. Turning to me, she tosses it on the bed. “I need to get dressed, and you better do something with yourself.” She runs a critical eye over my jeans and t-shirt and then pauses on my hair until I run a hand self-consciously through it. There’s nothing wrong with the way I look, is there? As if reading my mind, she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. I guess I have my answer.

Once she’s closed the door, I hear her record player crackle and she starts to hum along with Smokey Robinson “You Really Got a Hold On Me.” Shit, she’s playing the Mermaids soundtrack again. What is with that? I’ve not managed to work out what mood it means she’s in. Generally, it’s The Carpenters when she’s heartbroken and The Dirty Dancing soundtrack when she meets someone new. Grease when she’s happy but Mermaids? I haven't worked it out.

A long time after I’ve showered and dressed, I sit in the living room waiting for her to finish getting ready. I don’t know what is taking her so long; it’s only dinner. A dinner she didn’t want to go to in the first place, but she’s certainly taking her time getting ready.

“Come on, Meghan, we’re going to be late. What’s taking you so long?” I shout from my place on the sofa. Picking up an old magazine, I start to flick through it until she stands in front of me.

“Well?” she asks, throwing out her hands as she twirls in a small circle. It is my turn to run a critical eye over her.

“Hmm, you’ll do.” I push up to standing and dip my head to hide my amusement at the shocked expression on her face. She’s certainly made an effort with her black dress with its flared skirt and wedge sandals. Her blond hair is styled to look carefully messy with a red scarf tied in it. As usual, her makeup is flawless, but she doesn’t appear to be wearing as much as normal.

“You’re a dick.” She swats me with her small purse and doesn’t move until I reach for her hand to tug her out the door.

“You know I’m only kidding, right?” I ask as I lock the door. “You look pretty.”

“Pretty?” She arches an eyebrow at me before marching down the stairs and over to my car.

“Yeah, you know, nice.”

“Nice.” Her voice climbs higher with distaste.

“What do you want me to say? You’re my sister. I guess if I weren't your brother and was, say, Causey, I’d think you look gorgeous.” I catch her smile over the roof of my car.

“You think?”

“Yeah, that’s what he’ll think.” I laugh with a shake of my head as I climb behind the wheel. I don’t think I’ll ever understand her.

“What do you think of Causey?” she asks in a casual voice as I start the GTO. Oh no, I don’t want to be involved in this.





Chapter Eight




At six on the dot, I pull up outside Causey’s house and help Meghan out of the car then lead the way up the steps. She lags behind and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was nervous. Causey answers as soon as I ring the doorbell, almost as though he was hovering behind it. He greets us warmly and hesitates, leaning in a fraction to give Meghan a hug before he thinks better of it and backs away. I follow behind as he leads us into the house, hiding my amusement at the way he looks as nervous as she is. Then I notice the way he’s dressed—different, smarter— he’s made more of an effort. I raise an eyebrow at him when he looks back at me, and he gives me the finger, which makes me laugh.

Meghan has brought flowers for his mom, which she promptly puts in a vase before fussing over both of us. It’s been a long time since someone has fussed over both of us, but it’s nice. Meghan is taken aback; she is more used to looking after me.

“Have a seat. Dinner won’t be long. Joe.” She calls on him, but he’s too busy staring until she slaps him lightly on the back of the head. Now, she has his attention. “Get Meghan and Max a drink,” she instructs, shaking her head at him in amusement. She meets my eye and gives me a knowing wink. Okay, so it’s not just me then.

Causey hands us each a soda and perches on the arm of the chair opposite. Meghan excuses herself to help his mom in the kitchen, earning herself important brownie points, but I keep this remark to myself.

“Let’s go outside.” He leaps off the chair, and I follow him out the side door and over to my car.

“You up for racing next weekend?” He smiles broadly at me, which is infectious; he has a look of mischief about him all the time. I’m surprised Meghan’s not picked up on it yet, or maybe she has.