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About to go on a fucking date.
I move back into the hallway. Nearly run downstairs.
A few moments later, Brendon walks through the main room. He grabs his keys from the table and slides them into the front pocket of his skinny jeans.
"Text me when you go to bed." He looks to Emma. "Or if you need anything."
She nods. "I won't wait up."
"You too, Kay. Text me if you need anything." He holds my gaze. Promise?
I'm pretty sure I can't request him naked in my bed. So I force my lips into a smile. "I'll be fine."
He takes that as a yes, turns, walks out the door.
On the way to his date.
With some girl.
Some girl who isn't me.
Chapter Thirteen
Brendon
This place is all squares—the stools, the tables, the couches, the patrons.
Candles flicker. The soft yellow lamp in the corner offers just enough illumination to make out the menu.
This place isn't my scene. It's hers. Upscale. Pretty. Filled with people in suits. The kind of people who gush over sauvignon blanc.
I don't get it. Wine tastes the same to me.
We're ten minutes into conversation, but I'm not absorbing any of it.
I'm thinking about that look on Kay's face. Like I stabbed her in the gut.
Anna's laugh grabs my attention.
She turns to show off the ink on her back. "It still looks good."
"It does."
"That's a compliment."
"Mine too. You designed the tattoo."
She tilts her head to one side. "I'm not sure I buy you as humble." Her smile lights up her blue eyes. They're hard to see from under her silver makeup.
And her lips are red. Bright red. Think about where these lips could be red.
But I'm not thinking about ordering her onto her knees.
I'm thinking about how Em wears her lips that color.
I try to ignore that Emma has a sex life. She's an adult. She can do what she wants. I'm not going to tell her that sex is wrong or dirty. Not like I can talk.
But I still prefer to not connect the dots.
