Book 1 - Page 18 (2/2)
Then I change into a pair of skinny jeans and a dolman sweater. I grab my boots from the floor and walk barefooted downstairs. Gram is already eating breakfast and Seth’s with her.
“Good . . . morning?” Considering my brother is here, I have to double-check the time on my cell phone. It’s 15 minutes until 9am. I wasn’t aware that Seth even knew there were hours between two in the morning and noon, but I guess he’s proven me wrong. “You’re up early.”
“You don’t look happy to see me,” he pouts through giant bites of cereal. He’s wearing a baseball cap and a faded Polo s.h.i.+rt, and I’m instantly reminded of the frat boys in college who wore tiny shorts and boat shoes year-round.
“Of course I am.” I sit down in a chair at the middle of the table, flicking my eyes back and forth between Gram and my brother. I spend a good minute trying to come up with reasons why Seth is here. Then I remember what my grandmother said last night before I sulked up to my room, and I thunk myself in the forehead with my palm. “House-hunting?”
They nod in unison.
“You hung over, Si?” Seth asks mockingly as I scoot the chair I’m sitting in out so that I can put my shoes on. I cast a glare at him. He holds his hands up in front of him, defensively.
“I don’t drink,” I say darkly, jerking one of my leather riding boots onto my foot, then the other. I consider calling him out for the empty Jose Cuervo bottle I found in his center console, but then Gram gives us both pleading looks, and I squash the urge. There’s no need to upset her just because I’m irritated with Seth.
Of course, my little brother is not at all the driving force behind my bad mood.
As much as I dislike admitting it, I’m still fuming and bothered by Lucas. He effortlessly managed to make me come undone during one meal together—I don’t want to imagine what he’s capable of doing to my head and heart and body in the course of ten days, like he’s proposing.
It wouldn’t be good for me.
If seeing Seth out of bed early was a surprise, my heart almost stops when he reveals that he’s already taken the initiative to set up appointments at available places throughout the city. He insists we take his truck. He’s cleaned it out since the last time I was in it a few days ago, but it smells damp and suspiciously like spiced rum and vomit.
Gram notices it, too, because she sniffs a few times but doesn’t say anything.
As we drive to the first location, I try to steer the conversation we’re having about Seth’s school schedule—it’s boring—away from my brother delving into what Gram does on Tuesdays. He catches my gaze in the rearview mirror, giving me an angry, questioning look after I change the subject yet again to the Tennessee t.i.tans because he knows I’m not a football fan. “Stop it,” I mouth at him. Today is going to be hard enough for Gram as it is, so I don’t want him adding any more stress by bringing up Mom.
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