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Unlike her aunt and uncle.
“I need to heat up dinner. Would you like some?” Cate asked.
Brody’s stomach rumbled. “I would. But I have to go have dinner with my, uh, my boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“Boyfriend and girlfriend?”
Now he was blushing and looking nervous. Why was he nervous?
Oh, was he worried that she would judge him?
What did she say? What should she do to put him at ease?
“Would they like to come to dinner?” she asked.
His eyes widened. Shoot. Had she said the wrong thing? She reached for the hair tie around her wrist, snapping it against her skin to punish herself.
The pain cleared the frantic worry, helping her think better.
“Oh no. Thank you, though. But we have, um, plans.”
Weirdly, she wasn’t as relieved by his refusal as she’d thought she would be.
“Perhaps another time. Can I wash your T-shirt?”
Brody stared at her with wide eyes.
Damn it, Cate. You’re being weird. That was weird.
She reached for her hair tie again, but she couldn’t do that too often or Rhodes would notice.
Thankfully, she always wore long sleeves so she could hide it.
Cate hated keeping things from her brother, but Rhodes wouldn’t understand why she needed it. Not after what she’d done . . . he’d just worry.
“Sorry! Forget I said that. I just . . . I have a thing about stains. Really weird, I know.”
“Believe me, I know weird,” Brody told her firmly. “And that’s not weird at all.”
Oh.
That was actually a really nice thing to say.
“Do you think you can get the stain out? It’s my favorite T-shirt.” Brody frowned at the stain as though he hadn’t seen it before. “I’m not even sure how I got it. Maybe it’s barbeque sauce. Or blood.”
She sucked in a breath.
“Autumn, that’s my girl, she sliced her finger while trying to cut an orange when turbulence hit,” he said urgently. “I was trying to stem the blood before the F . . . before, uh, Fred, our boyfriend saw it. But the stain seems too big for that.”
“She was cutting oranges while flying? That doesn’t seem safe.”
“Turns out it wasn’t. She’s not going to sit comfortably tonight,” he muttered.
She gaped at him. “Pardon?”
Was he implying that Fred would . . . would spank Autumn?
“Oh, uh, it’s all consensual!” he said in a rush. “He’s not abusing her or anything.”
