Page 79 of Interpreter

No one moves or even looks at me. Tim is blocked by his brothers, and the unsuspecting moms simply hum as the testosterone forms a blanket of mist around us.

Fine. Whatever. My feet hurt.

Inside, the house is bustling with parents and kids. Breck is in the kitchen handing out snacks in the shape of music notes when I enter. “Those are precious,” I tell her.

She flashes me a wholesome smile. “Thank you. I like themes.”

Anniston wipes Aspen’s face with a cloth. “How many more cars do you guess they have left?”

I shrug. “The lines are still up the driveway.”

Anniston looks at Breck. “Do you want to go help?”

Their grins are conspiratorial. “Cade said I better not leave this house in anything other than a hoodie and jeans.”

Anniston waves away her comment. “Please. Cade isn’t going to do anything with so many witnesses around.”

Breck giggles. “I don’t think so. Well,” she adds with a grin before shaking her head and dismissing the thought. “Not today. He’s been next-level crazy since I’ve been pregnant. I’m afraid if I test him, he might not care if there are witnesses.”

I agree. Cade is a big dude. Much like Tim, they both look pretty damn scary when they’re mad.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” I add. “They all seem to be in a mood since I arrived.”

Anniston cocks her head to the side thoughtfully. “Oh?”

I nod. “Tim didn’t even tell me about the fundraiser. If Cal hadn’t stopped to pick me up, then I would have never known.”

Breck pulls out a stool beside me and sits. “Oh no. Another man brought you?” Her tone seems worried.

I bet that damn wrinkle Tim always talks about forms when I tell her defensively. “My car broke down. I tried to call Pe, but it went to voice mail. I was about to call Tim when Cal drove by.”

Anniston’s eyes widen. “You might want to stay in here for a while; at least until he calms down.”

Awhilewas three solid hours. I’d managed to track down Marcus who said he would take care of my car. Then I learned how to make peach cobbler with Breck before the car wash lines cleared out.

“Good luck,” Anniston tells me as she and Breck pack Aspen’s diaper bag for an evening out with family.

I roll my eyes, waving away her concern. “Tim will be fine. It’s all a big misunderstanding.”

And it is, until Tim has to act all shitty and alpha male when I finally go outside to confront him once everyone leaves. I eye him from across his car while he washes the hood. He refuses to look at me.

Okay, I see how this is going to be. “You missed a spot,” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood, but it doesn’t work. It only earns me a glare from across the hood.

Fine. He wants to play ugly, then we’ll play ugly.

We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t ignored me all day—I only ignored him a little—and smiled at Martha. I wouldn’t have had to come with Cal just because I was jealous. Okay, so it was a clusterfuck of things. I was basically given a pink slip, my car broke down, and Martha made me jealous. The whole “not telling me about the fundraiser” thing is just fuel to my already stoked fire.

But I blow on it anyway, lighting up the space between us with ridiculousness.

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I bark.

The words come out before I can stop them. I realize I’m not part of the music program, but Tim isn’t either. Not technically. We just take up Ms. Peak’s lunch hour by practicing and using all of her free time. Tim and I aren’t together-together so I shouldn’t expect him to send me a personal invite to help with the fundraiser. He’s allowed to do things without me, even if my heart disagrees.

She (my heart) even had mild palpitations when we drove up and found a line backed down the driveway with waiting supporters (see definition of drooling band moms). The point is, I’m hurt. Tim and I might just be coworkers with benefits, but I would have come and supported himandthe school who is firing me next month.

“I should be ashamed?” His voice booms across the Jeep.

Whoa. Slow your roll, sexy. No one needs me getting turned on against this car, but I will if he keeps looking at me with those thick, arched eyebrows; looking at me as if he’s mad or that I’m wrong for my comment, or something ridiculous like that.

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