“You wanted me to play nice.” I press a hand to my chest. “Maybe this is me, playing nice.”
“Bullshit. You got a C-minus in bowling, and you hate losing.”
“I knew you were going to bring that up,” I grumble. It feels nice, though, talking to him like we’re old friends again. Like the past year—hell, maybe even the past couple of years—was a weird fever dream.
“You don’t have to go bowling.” He looks off in the distance. “Look, I’ll say it again. It was really fucking embarrassing what she pulled the other week, trying to pitch to Cormac. I still don’t totally get the two of you together?—”
I give him an arch look.
He rolls his eyes skyward. “Fine, but anyway, I know what he must think about Pansy. I’ll make sure she doesn’t keep bugging him about it.” Leaning back again, he says, “Anyway, how’s your flower beer coming along?”
“Jesus, we’re definitelynot calling it that.”
He grins. “How about the Love Potion?”
“Are you getting these names from Pansy?”
He shakes his head, but his smile doesn’t slip. “You got the idea for this one from Cormac, didn’t you?”
I shrug, not wanting to think about what that might mean.
“Okay, Nora. Have it your way.” His expression shifts, becoming more serious. “But I don’t know why you won’t admit it. I’ve never seen you like this with a guy.” There’s a note of hurt in his voice I’d rather not think about right now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, my pulse jumping.
Ican’thave real feelings for Cormac. Putting every other reason aside, I’m a liar, and he’s possibly the most honest man alive.
And you’ve got him lying and sending unfriendly anonymous texts after a few weeks. What’ll happen if you’re together for a year?
A horrible feeling seeps into me, as if someone just slopped me with that radioactive green slime from old Nickelodeon shows.
Am I corrupting Cormac?
Am I the Pansy in our twosome?
Fuck, I don’t like that thought one bit, but I really think I might be. Cormac has done so much for me, and I’ve done almost nothing for him in return. Yes, I’m sleeping with him, but that doesn’t count. I’ve enjoyed every minute of being with him. But what have I actually done for him? Just him?
I watched Cookie, but that hardly counts.
There’s the ginger beer, but that’s not specifically for him.
I want to do something for him. Something special that shows I appreciate him.
“You have a very strange look on your face,” José comments.
“Look at you, being all over my facial expressions today.”
“It’s just?—”
“He did inspire the pear and wildflower ginger beer,” I admit, even though it physically hurts me to make myself vulnerable. “I guess maybe I’ll name it after him.”
“The Cormac?” he asks with a laugh.
“The Muse.”
He watches me with a long, knowing gaze. “You’re really serious about him, huh?”
I open my mouth, hoping some kind of answer will spill out, but at that exact moment, a screech pierces the office from the tasting room.
