“Really?” Emmett drawls. I canhearthe wide smile on his face. “Why can’t you look at me then?”
I grimace, tightening my grip on the fork in my hand, and force myself to quickly look over at him before stuffing my mouth with roasted potatoes.
“You’re such alittle liar,” he teases. “You have something on your mind. Might make you feel better to confide in your most handsome friend and roommate-slash-coworker.” He bumps me with his elbow and winks when I force myself to look at him again.
I love Emmett and his goofy personality. I love that he can always make me laugh and pull me from my head when I start to spiral. I love that he calls us friends before anything else.
But even if it wasn’t a rule, there’s no way I could ever confess the truth to him. How I can still feel his brother’s mouth on my skin. How he hadmeas an appetizer before this very meal.
Instead, I settle for the next best thing: a half-truth.
“I’m fine. Really. Just…a little worried about tonight.” I bite my lip. “Lydia said she heard Lane’s going to be there tonight with some of the seasonal guys.”
Emmett’s smile drops instantly. He nods, jaw tightening, and guilt pricks sharp under my ribs. I hate lying to him. I hate playing my victim card.
Maybe enough time has passed and the wounds aren’t as fresh, but that night with Lane wasn’t the worst thing to ever happen to me. But everyone here sees me as this fragile little girl who can’t fend for herself, and assumes that I’m forever wounded from it.
Yes, Lane scared me. But all he did was break a promise and get wasted.
Worse things have happened.
I’m not dismissing his behavior, but I’m not torn up about it anymore.
“We could go someplace else,” Emmett offers quietly. “I’m sure Wes won’t mind.”
“No, it’s fine.Really.Let’s no—”
“What won’t I mind?” Wesley interrupts, his eyes fixed on me.
“Nothing,” I blurt at the same time Emmett says, “Going somewhere other than Lucky’s tonight.”
I shoot him a glare before looking at Wesley, shaking my head vehemently.
“Everything isfine,” I insist. “Can we please drop it?”
“We can have Brant give him the boot if he shows up.” Emmett smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at me before shoving a forkful of potato into his mouth.
Despite everything, I snort—which is exactly what he wanted.
“Who?” Heath asks, chiming in.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Lane is a sore subject for Wesley, and the last thing I want is to rock the boat. All I want is for all of us to move on.
“Um…Lane,” I reply, clearing my throat. “But it’s not a huge deal. Besides, Lyd has been looking forward to riding the bull all week. I’m not going to be the one to crush her dreams.”
Heath lets out a gruffhmphand takes a sip of his water. Emmett nudges me again, his smile tight, searching my face like he doesn’t believe me.
I peek across the table to Wesley and his eyes narrow. He sees right through me. He knows I’m downplaying it. I shake my head, just enough for him to see—please, don’t make this worse.
Heath cuts in, oblivious to the current thrumming under the surface. “Glad you can all be mature adults about this. This is the whole reason I made that rule, to avoid the awkwardness when it all fizzles out.”
Emmett freezes, his fork hovering in front of his mouth. “I thought you made the rule because—”
“Shit—we’re late.” Wesley shoves back from the table so hard the chair legs screech against the wood. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t look at his brother. “We should’ve left ten minutes ago.”
He tosses his napkin over his plate—then grabs mine too, like an afterthought, like he just needs something to do with his hands—and stalks toward the kitchen.
I blink at Emmett, waiting for an explanation, but he won’t meet my eyes. His jaw ticks, muscles pulled tight.
