“So. Brenda.” Olli schools his features back to sobriety. “Super-stepmom?”
“Definitely,” I agree, though I’m still watching Syd smile. “She’s the reason I’m not more of a mess.”
“Amen,” mutters Syd, and I give her the finger.
“She’s a badass. And a hard-ass.”
“Fair.” Olli tosses a glance over his shoulder as he swings onto my exit. “My mom’s the opposite. Which is why I’m, well, you know.”
“My opposite.”
“Zactly.” He aims a finger gun across the center console towards me. “So Avery. You got a stepmom and a surrogate stepmom. So, basically two moms.”
“Twice as many judgy looks,” Avery sighs, and both Olli and I chuckle. “And verbal abuse.”
“Don’t listen to him,” I say, pointing at the windshield. “Left up here. He loves them both, and they love him. For some reason.”
“Says you,” Avery mumbles, so I pinch the back of his arm.
“That’s my house. You can pull into the driveway.” I pinch Avery’s arm again, a little softer this time. “You good, kid? No puking on the way out?”
“I don’t think there’s anything left,” Avery admits, which I’m sure will be a nice set of famous last words. But he follows me out of the truck and onto the driveway. I still curl my arm under his to ensure he stays on his feet.
Sydney climbs out after me, which means now I have to give her avery stern look. “He’s only here because he’s a fucking mess. You will go directly to your room. No passing go or collecting yogurt from the fridge.”
“I can help—”
“Nope.” I point towards the townhouse. “You’re in. Avery’s my problem now.”
Syd grumbles something suspiciously sweary—I’ve never been one for filtering language, and it shows in my teenage daughter—but marches off through the cold.
And then I’m peering back into the truck at Olli. “So. Um. If you want to come in . . . I mean, Syd’s in her room, and Avery will be in the bathroom, but I have . . . It’s a big townhouse.”
Olli’s face softens, and I recognize the dismissal the moment before the words tumble out. “It’s okay. I was gonna leave anyway.”
“You were?” I ask, surprised. “Why?”
He ponders a moment, like he’s running through a list of excuses or reasons, but finally settles on what must be the truth. “’Cause parties burn my social battery out. I’m a wicked introvert.”
“An introvert?” My brows lift in quiet surprise. “Really? But you’re so . . .”
“Bubbly?” He grins, as if in demonstration. He does smile a lot. “I’m sort of an outgoing introvert. With ADHD. So I like to talk and laugh and expend a whole bunch of energy, and then I go crash in a heap in front of the TV to recharge for a bit.”
“So.” I lift a brow, teasing. “You’re ditching the party for Netflix and chill . . . with yourself?”
“I’m gonna just assume your mind was not in the gutter on that one”—his grin widens impossibly when I wince—“and assure you that I am actually just going to bed. I’m tired. All the, you know . . . bubbling around.”
Am I blushing? My cheeks feel strangely warm. “Fair enough.”
“So thank you for the offer.” He flaps a hand to shoo me away from the truck. “But, go. Take care of your kids, and sleep off the hangover. I’ll see you Monday.”
Chapter 15
Olli
So,ifyouwantto come in . . .
I blast the heat in the truck as I watch Nat and Avery stagger into the two-story townhouse. I wonder what his home looks like . . . a bachelor pad? But he’s got a daughter. Sydney. Ateenagedaughter.
