Awkward.
He cleared his throat for no reason. “Well, look, if you’re gonna stick around, stay close. No telling when you might fall through the floor or get attacked by a ghost or some shit.”
She grinned again, faintly. “Fair enough.”
Tango headed down the back hall to search the old study and library. Which left Aidan alone with Sam to look through the ballroom and then the kitchen.
A stifling silence descended between them, broken only by the sounds of their shoes and the creak of the floorboards as they moved slowly across the room, scanning everything.
It struck him, suddenly, as her perfume crawled up his nose and drowned out the mildewed stench of old house: he’d never, not once in his life, felt anything less than confident in front of a woman. When it came to the ladies, silences were not awkward, moments were not fraught with tension, and words never failed him.
But something had changed after his time with Tonya. Something had shifted the evening he went to change Sam’s tire outside Waffle House. And now he felt raw, nervous, green…and terribly, terribly inadequate. Walking alongside this properly-dressed, well-spoken, college-educated sweetheart, he felt nothing short of unworthy.
Tonya had rejected him out of hand, and she was a bitch. Sam? What mustshethink of him?
“Will you know something suspect if you see it?” she asked, jolting him from his thoughts. As she took a step, she kicked at a crumpled chip bag, a small pile of beer cans rattling. “There’s a lot of trash in here.”
“I’ll know it,” he assured, refocusing, really looking once more.
She nodded, and then said, tiredly, “I didn’t ever think it would be like this.”
“Hmm?” He caught her elbow when she wobbled on her heels, steered her over the threshold into the kitchen.
“Thanks.” Her hand landed over his a moment, warm as it pressed his fingers to her arm. A brief touch, but one that thrilled him in a way wholly unexpected.
Then she retracted, and he released her.
“I didn’t think my sister would ever have these kinds of problems,” she explained. “Look at me.”
He did, taking in every inch of subtle curves and thick blonde braid, the sloped smallness of her nose and bright turquoise of her eyes behind her glasses.
“I’m the stiffest, lamest, un-coolest kid there ever was–”
“Hey, now–”
“You didn’t remember me,” she reminded. “Lame and forgettable tend to go hand-in-hand. Anyway,” she said, when he started to interject again, “Erin’s my full-blooded sister. And we couldn’t be more different. And with my mom working so much and my dad gone…” Her lips compressed, eyes dropping to the chipped tile floor. “Guess it makes me question my mothering skills.” She laughed hollowly.
Again, he was struck with a sense of personal inadequacy. His current drama was the result of him being his usual hot-headed idiot self. Sam’s problems were beyond her control, her best efforts hampered by a brat sister and overwhelmed mother. He spent his life starting fires, and she spent hers trying to put them out.
“That’s the point though,” he said.
“What is?”
“You’re not her mom; you’re her sister. And your mom was busy and your dad had just died, and you were what? Fifteen? You turned out to be probably the most responsible person I know. So it’s got nothing to do with the raising – no matter who’s doing it. Some people just gotta be wild, I think.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “Some people like you?”
“A born fuckup, that’s me. And maybe that’s not your sister, but maybe it is, and it’s not your fault.”
Her smile stretched a little. “Careful. That sounds dangerously like wisdom.”
Her smile made him want to smile, and he…
“Guys,” Tango said, coming into the room on his damn silent dancer’s feet. “Look what I found.”
A single baggie, with about an ounce of white powder.
“And look,” Tango said, flipping it over, indicating a sticker with his thumb.
