~~~This is a prequel, spin-off from Ties~~~
Briar Hayes has lived her entire life being polite, never daring to express the crazy and wild thoughts running laps in her head. At almost twenty-five, stuck in the throes of monotony, she finally snaps...
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* This is...
Strange.
Uncomfortable.
What the fuck? That sums it up.
Trey's visible panic fluctuates between his sister, Tara I presume, and me. Her eyes are about to push the ejector-seat button.
Vada rushes to the door after shooting Trey a glance with her brows halfway up her forehead, then she sends a momstare to the three on the sofa. The same three who look like they're front-row center for a Jerry Springer show. Can't fault them. Teagan struggles to restrain her laughter as Tori and Tasha give conspicuous elbow jabs.
I turn my back on the situation—or whateveryou wanna call it—that just walked through the front door. That just introduced herself to their mother in a nauseatingly sweet voice.
Come on, like I said, I'm not that out of touch. I could tell by the extra flounce in her step while shutterflying her lashes at my... my my, that this is Trey's "nothing serious."
My pride shrivels—only a little, not a lot—and an immediate heat spreads through my body. Not the good kind. Hello elevated level of unpleasantry, you're new here.
"I'm sorry," Trey says. "I'll, uh." His attention lifts to behind me, where he's having some sort of unspoken conversation with his sister. His head pitches left, then right, then left again.
"Ladies." Their mother puts an end to the free show. "We better go check on the kids." She pads across the hardwood floor, and a stern scowl lands on the three T's when she enters the back room. "Now." She serves Trey a look as if to say, fix this.
And for the record, not that I'd laser-focused on it, but she gave blondie a hasty handshake. I don't know why, but it makes me feel better. Except, I do know why. So that unpleasantness I'm experiencing, I'm aware of what it is. We all are aware of what it is.
"You didn't check your phone?" Tori hisses on their way outside, just in time for me to swing my head around—deciding to keep my cool, at least for now—as Tara answers with a bewildered shrug.
I rise from the couch and sip my drink—it's refreshing. Tastes like a mix of vodka, pink lemonade, and Prosecco. Three respectable contenders. Then I funnel the remaining half-glass down my esophagus in a boozy rush, the aftershocks instantly flaming my cheeks.
Or... it's from the situation.
Can I also say, while Trey admitted it was nothing serious, the way she's looking at him—picture cartoon heart eyes—paired with his teeth, punishing his bottom lip, tells me a different story.
I think?
Was it... something more?
"Hi, Trey," new girl—that my mind has decided to dislike—says as she prances into the room. "Hope this is okay? Wasn't sure if we were ready for the meet the family thing?"
