But she never looked at me the same way. Or so I thought. So, I packed up all those confusing, downright terrifying emotions and pushed them far, far away. We continued being best friends, and my instant of adolescent insanity was ignored—but not forgotten.
Just as quickly as our gazes met, they ricocheted off one another, skittering to something safer. “Hi, Meg. Good to see you. You look well,” I said stiffly, but oh so politely.
Meg started picking at the skin around her nails, and I knew that she was anxious. I got a sick sense of satisfaction at knowing I rattled her.
“Yeah, good to see you too,” she muttered.
Dad was chatting with Lena, who continued to watch the two of us out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps waiting to see whether we would need a referee...or a bouncer.
An awkward silence stretched taut between us. Meg pick, pick, picked at her nails. She used to tear off the skin around her cuticles before a test. I remembered swatting at her hands when I noticed her nervous tick.
“So, you’re back in Southport. Must be an adjustment after being in New York,” I said finally, rather pleased with how chill I sounded.
Meg took a long drink of her wine, making a face. “It’s fine. I was getting tired of the city anyway.” She swallowed another large mouthful even though she clearly didn’t like it.
“Don’t like red wine?” I asked.
Her eyes flickered in my direction. “Red wine is perfectly delicious.” She took another obstinate glug.
I got to my feet. “I can go get you something else if you’d prefer.” Anything to get away from this painfully stilted conversation.
“No, I said it’s fine. I’m good with the red.” To make her point, she finished off the glass, trying to suppress a grimace.
“You’ve never been a particularly good liar,” I joked, trying to break the ice as best I could. At one time, she would have made a sarcastic comment back, and we would have laughed together before going off to play a hand of rummy or watch an Adam Sandler movie for the millionth time.
Those days were long over. Meg’s expression became stony. She faced me directly, and I almost flinched. “And you’re entirely too good at it.”
I was taken aback by the venom in her voice. Jesus, the woman knew how to hold onto her resentment. Meg always had to do everything better than everyone else. Even keeping a grip on irrational anger.
I opened my mouth. Then closed it. I knew that whatever I was going to say wasn’t going to do much to placate the situation. I had always been good at reading the room and acting accordingly. It’s how I won so many cases. But with Meg Galloway, there was no reading the room. There was no using charm to influence her. She had hardened herself to anything and everything I had to say. That was more than obvious.
Fuck if I was going to grovel and prostrate myself to benefit her bruised ego.
“And you were always good at misreading things and calling them facts,” I threw back at her. We stared each other down, neither of us budging. I hated every glorious second of it.
Lena, finally realizing the danger in the air, turned to Meg, positioning herself so that her body blocked me entirely. “What are you going to do now that you’re home? Mom always kept us up to date on your art and all the success you achieved in New York. Isn’t that right, Adam?”
My jaw tensed, and I had to work at unclenching my fists. “Yeah, sounds like you’ve been pretty successful.”
Meg curled her lip. “You too, Mr. Mercedes.” Every word hurled at me like an insult.
“Yeah, I own a Mercedes. Oh, and my house is worth 1.3 million dollars. And I have a varied and high yield portfolio. So, I suppose I’m pretty damn successful. And I’m proud of it.” I sounded entirely too defensive.
Meg did a slow clap. “Look at Most Likely to be a Millennial Douchebag.”
I gripped the arms of my chair. “Says Most Likely to be a Pretentious Tryhard.”
We glared at each other.
“Hey, Adam, can you go grab a few beers. I’m really thirsty,” Lena interrupted hastily.
“Sure, I can do that.” I gave Meg a sarcastic grin. “Anything for the prodigal daughter?”
She lifted her glass and tipped it in my direction. “More red wine would be great.”
I took her wine glass, inadvertently brushing my fingers with hers. She reacted as though I shocked her.
I stalked back into the kitchen, trying not to fume. I could hear the low murmuring of voices when I entered and saw my mother and June’s heads bent close together. They didn’t notice me come in. I used the time to eavesdrop shamelessly. Particularly since I heard June mention Meg.
“I’m worried about her, Marion. She won’t talk about how things are going in New York, but I get the feeling that she’s not happy.”
Mom rubbed June’s arm in a sympathetic gesture. “Just ask her, June. You and Meg have always had such an open and honest relationship. I’m sure she’s fine. That girl could always land on her feet.”
June shook her head. “Her last gallery showing was such a disappointment for her. I know she’s struggling, though she’ll never tell me how much. And then losing her dad… She’s taken a knock, and I’m not sure she’s been able to stand up again.”
Mom glanced up to see me lingering in the doorway. Busted. “Do you need something, Adam?” Mom asked sharply.
“I wasn’t—I mean, I’m not—I came in for a beer,” I stammered like a little kid caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
Mom pointed at the refrigerator. “I told you where they are.”
I went and pulled out a couple of bottles and then made sure to fill Meg’s wine glass to the brim.
I turned back to Mom and June, but they had started whispering together again.“Sorry for interrupting,” I said and then left the kitchen.
Back outside, I could see Meg laughing at something my dad had said. Her head thrown back, exposing the long, pale column of her throat. She had grown into a damn fine-looking woman. Too bad, she was cold as ice.
“And then he ran down the street, his pants around his ankles. The entire neighborhood could see his boxer briefs,” Dad howled, and my face flushed red.
Fucking hell already.
“Dad, seriously? You haven’t grown out of telling embarrassing stories about your only son?” I groaned, handing Meg her wine.
She noticed how very full the glass was and narrowed her eyes. “I never get enough of mortifying stories where you’re concerned, Adam.”
“It was funny because this didn’t happen when he was a kid,” Dad cackled, slapping his knee. “Nope. You could understand a toddler running around with his butt hanging out for the whole world to see. But our Adam was twenty-two!”
Lena howled, wiping her eyes. And Meg laughed so hard she could barely breathe.
“Don’t have an asthma attack on my account,” I retorted sweetly.
Meg stopped laughing and surreptitiously flipped me off under the table. I didn’t even try to hide my grin.
“That’s not even the best part, Dad,” I continued for him, figuring it was better to laugh with ’em. “I didn’t even realize my running shorts had slipped down around my cheeks until a random dude cat-called me. I have a very fine ass, apparently.” I shrugged and took a swig of my beer.