I repress the urge to bop him upside the head for his pure boneheadedness. Instead, I say, “You’re with Delany now.”
“Yes. I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. That I don’t still feel—”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Because this shit has gone on long enough. “I don’t care what you feel. I don’t care what you feel for me or Delany or anything really. You broke up with me to be with her. You made your choice. Even if you weren’t engaged now. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, there’s no us anymore.”
Tripp studies me for a long minute, then slowly nods. But apparently my words don’t quite resonate, because he says, “But this guy you’re with… You can’t be serious.”
“What?” Shock rockets through me.
“This Nick guy. This muscle-bound army guy you’re with now. You’ve known him for what… forty-eight hours?”
On the heels of my surprise, is a hit of outrage on Nick’s behalf. “He’s not in the army. He’s a Navy SEAL. That means he’s one of the most elite soldiers in the world. That means you don’t even get to say his name.” I pick up the plate of toast and bottled water and press them back into his hands. “Go back to your fiancee.”
Just then, I hear footsteps in the sand behind me. Tripp looks over my shoulder and I know instantly from his expression that Nick is behind me.
My suspicion is confirmed when I hear him say, “If you’re really lucky, I’ll let you pretend you never had this conversation with Cassie.”
Tripp’s eyes go wide and he scurries away.
I turn to look at Nick. He has his aviator glasses on, so I can’t read the expression in his eyes, but if the set of his mouth is any sign, it’s dark and grim.
He’s wearing loose-fitting board shorts that are tight around his waist, his shirt is off, his chest glistening and so muscular someone from the resort should probably snap a picture of it, slap it on a brochure. He’s got a towel draped over his shoulders and he’s gripping the ends of it in either hand.
I take a step toward him and then my steps falter.
I wish the morning after an amazing night of amazing sex had started any way other than this.
I wish we talked, so that I would have some idea what’s going on his head right now. Whatever it is, I know it’s not good.
But I can’t tell if it’s I-had-sex-with-my-best-friend’s-sister-and-now-I-don’t-know-how-to-handle-it not good or if it’s I-just-found-a-guy-hitting-on-the-woman-I-just-had-sex-with not good.
It could be either. Or something else entirely.
And even though I almost always know what to say to defuse the situation, I have no idea what to say right now. So I take another step forward, keeping my hands clenched in front of me so that I won’t be tempted to reach up and trace my name on his sweat-dabbled chest like I’m writing notes on a steamed up mirror.
And I said the only thing I can say. The only thing that makes sense to me under the circumstances.
“What are you thinking?”
His mouth tightens into a grim line for a second, then he swallows, which seems as good a sign as anything that he doesn’t know what to say either.
“Just that you better not fucking tell me what a good guy he is. Or make excuses because he was clearly just about to kiss you now.“
“You do know that whatever was going on with him, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
Nick swallows again and his nod is tight, but definite. “I know.”
“So… Where does that leave us? You’re not mad at me over this, right?”
“No.” His hands are working the edges of that towel like he’s trying to squeeze the last moisture on earth. “I know that would be irrational. I know I have no right to be mad at you about that.”
“I feel like there’s a but in the at the end of that sentence that you don’t want to say out loud.”
“Of course there’s a but there. But I’m talking to a lawyer, right? So if I admit that I’m mad about what I saw, then I’m the asshole.”
“You’re not talking to a lawyer. You’re talking to me. Your friend.”
He laughs, but it’s the angriest, most bitter laugh I’ve ever heard from him. From anyone, maybe. “Is that all we are? Friends.”
