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"Too often," he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. "And not nearly often enough."
"Jesus, man. You're so fucked."
"You think I don't know that?" He shoots me a death glare. "I've been fucked since she walked through the doors."
I shake my head, leaning back against the seat with my eyes closed.
A few minutes later, a call rings through his speakers.
"Zion," he mutters, pressing the button on his console to answer.
I close my eyes again.
"What are you doing?" Zion asks.
"Stalking Emma."
"Why do I bother asking you questions when I know damn well you're going to tell me the truth?" Zion mutters into the phone. "I refuse to be your accomplice, motherfucker."
"Don't worry, I'm not doing anything illegal."
"Except stalking," I remind him, peeling one eye open to look at him.
"Fucking hell. You roped Gideon into helping you?" Zion growls. "What the fuck, Zayne?"
"I'm not helping him. I'm just enjoying the shitshow." I'm full of shit, but Zion doesn't know that. And what he doesn't know is always amusing for me. Stressing him out is peak entertainment.
"Uh, fuck both of you. This isn't a shitshow. I don't need help. And it's only illegal if the stalking is unwanted."
"We have got to get you a law dictionary," I say, yawning. I'm fucking exhausted. "Stalking is stalking. It's all illegal."
"You know what I mean."
I shrug, closing my eyes again. Frankly, I'd take Zayne's version of stalking over the shit I'm dealing any day of the week.
"Hasn't she shot you down every time you've asked her out?" Zion asks. "I'm pretty sure that puts whatever the fuck you're doing in unwanted territory."
"She takes care of her grandma and her grandma's twin sister."
"Awesome. You're going to get your ass kicked by two old women when they find out. Gideon, please record this for my viewing pleasure."
"I'm not going to get caught. My point is that she's been turnin' me down because she's busy taking care of them."
"Or maybe she just doesn't like you."
"Plausible," I agree.
"Does anyone like him?" Zion asks. "Or do we just tolerate him because Ma said we have to at least pretend we like him?"
"B. The answer is B."
"Obviously. Not even Ma likes his ass. She just pretends because she feels guilty that she loves him less than us."
"Curse of the first child," I murmur. "They're always the forgotten, unloved ones."
"Especially when they look like him."
I chuckle.
