“Then let me,” I say, plucking the items from her hand and depositing them exactly where they belong. I brush off my hands and turn back to her. “Now that we’ve taken care of that, tell me more about the football team.”
That afternoon, I fill in the details for my brothers, telling them everything I learned from Dixie. A tiny pang of guilt accompanies my divulgence, as if I owe the Darlings something. Which I don’t. Two of them have been complete assholes to me, and Colt… Well, I don’t know about Colt. But I certainly don’t owe him loyalty. These are my brothers, and I want them to have everything they want. And they want everything.
As I talk, we turn into our neighborhood and curve along the narrow, one-lane asphalt road toward our new home. I push the guilt away. I’m not telling my brothers anything they couldn’t find out by asking around the way that I have. And I like helping them.
We’re just passing the Darling’s driveway when the Range Rover jerks wildly. King yanks the wheel straight, and the twins shout a chorus of curses as another jolt goes through it. The car skids sideways, the wheel sinking into the shoulder before the car slams to a halt against the brick monstrosities that serve as mailboxes around here. Ours and the Darlings are side by side, right between the two properties, and we managed to topple both. Judging by the solidity of the mailboxes, we probably just totaled the Range Rover, too.
“What the fuck,” King fumes, leaping out of the car.
I can hear the air whistling out of the punctured tire, but I’m too stunned to move for a second. The twins keep up a solid stream of cursing as they jump out of the car to look at the tire, too.
“You okay?” Royal asks, adjusting the mirror to see me.
“Fine,” I say, taking a deep breath and running my damp palms over my thighs. “It’s just a flat.”
“There’s fucking nails in the road,” Duke yells.
King ducks back into the car, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead, his jaw clenched and his knuckles white.
“What happened?” I ask, wrapping my hands around my knees and squeezing until my nails bite into my skin. “Can you change the tire?”
“Go up to the house,” King says, not moving a muscle.
“We don’t have three spares,” Baron says, dropping into the seat beside me.
A door slams, and I turn to see a thin, blonde woman emerging from the Darling’s house. She’s wearing hot pink capri pants and a flowered blouse, her hair pulled up in a high, smooth pony. She starts toward us with mincing steps on her pink high heels, making her way carefully down the white gravel walkway between the bowing trees. Her hips sway as she takes each tiny step, a phone in one hand and what looks like a pie balanced on the other.
“Tootle-oo,” she calls, waving at us with the hand holding the phone.
Royal curses under his breath, hauling himself out of the passenger side. The rest of us climb out as well, since it’s obvious the Range Rover isn’t going anywhere right now. Duke whistles softly, his eyes locked on the twitching hips of the woman approaching. “If that’s Devlin’s mom, it won’t even be taking one for the team to fuck her.”
“Do you think it was them?” I ask. As if in answer, a powder blue Bel Air turns into the neighborhood and rolls up behind us. The top is down, his blond hair tousled, his arm resting along the windowsill of the car. A pair of designer shades cover his mean eyes. He looks like something straight out of a movie, especially when he flashes us a smug grin. “Car trouble?” he drawls, not moving to get out of his convertible.
“Oh, there you are, darling,” calls the woman as she reaches the end of their drive and starts for our car. “I’ve been meaning to go meet the neighbors all week. Let’s introduce ourselves.”
Devlin doesn’t answer. He sits in the car for a minute, and I think he’s going to tell her no. Just as it begins to get awkward, though, he swings open the door and steps out. His mother tilts her head, and he leans in and gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. I’m touched, not to mention surprised as hell. The way this guy acts at school, I’d never have pegged him as a mama’s boy. She doesn’t look old enough to be his mother, either, but appearances are deceiving. If I learned anything from Mom’s friends, it’s the lengths women will go to in order to appear youthful.
“Y’all must be the Dolce clan,” she says, apparently satisfied with Devlin’s display of affection. She sashays past him and over to us. A pair of sunglasses sit perched on her nose, so I can’t fully read her expression as she takes us in.
“That’s us,” King says, thrusting out a hand. “I’m King Dolce.”
“The king of the Dolce clan?” she asks, then titters at her own joke.
I force a smile and intercept before she can get all gross the way older women do about my brothers. “You must be Mrs. Darling,” I say, holding out a hand. “I’m Crystal Dolce.”
She plunks the glass pie dish into my hands. “It’s lovely to meet you, Crystal,” she says. “Why don’t you run this up to the house and bring your daddy down to take a look at these mailboxes while we introduce ourselves?”
My jaw nearly hits the pavement as I gape at her.
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Not seeming to realize she’s just been rude as hell, or more likely not giving a fuck, Mrs. Darling turns to slide her thin, tan fingers into King’s. “Well, hello there. I’m Mrs. Darling, your next-door neighbor.” She smiles adoringly at him before reaching past me to shake Royal’s hand, so close I have to sidestep so I don’t get knocked over. Devlin stands behind her, a bored smirk on his lips. I wish I could see his eyes behind his shades, see what he thinks about his mother being so obvious in her flirtation with my brothers.
Royal shakes her hand before stepping over to join me. “Looks good,” he murmurs, glancing at the pie. “Aren’t you going to run along so the adults can talk?”
“Shut up,” I say, elbowing him and trying not to laugh. I’m so grateful for him always noticing when I need his quiet support and always being there to give it without me even asking.
When Mrs. Darling tries to introduce Devlin, he nods at us. “We met at school,” is all he says.