“First date.”
Carter sighs, running his hand over his face. Sick of me, as usual.
Boston is glowering down at me. He reaches up to smack my brother on the shoulder instead of saying anything, shaking him a bit. It makes him come back into his body, the rage slowly dissipating from his eyes.
Boston scans the lot of us. “Lemmy and I were going to have a bite and a couple of drinks. Would you guys like to join us?”
My eyes skirt to Lemmy. Beautiful. Smart. Badass. Jealousy rushes through me. I love her, and I’ll feel awful for always finding reasons to flirt with Boston if they have something going on, but…I will also be crushed if that’s the case.
Why? I don’t know. We barely know each other, but I feel like he’s mine to rile up.
“I’d like another drink,” I announce.
Carter drops his hand and glares at me. “Were the last five minutes not enough for you?”
“I just had to sit through a dinner with a man who put me down every chance he got,” I explain, and his face falls, eyes darkening. “I’d like to have a drink with people who actually like me, if that’s okay with you.”
Arden slides her hand into his and squeezes. “We like you. We’ll stay for a drink.”
“Of course, I like you. You’re my favourite Forkerro,” Lemmy says, winking at me. Carter gasps in surprise, throwing up a hand, but Lemmy’s already reaching over to grab my martini. “Let’s have a drink.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
boston
I dropmy barbell as Forker sits on the bench next to mine, shirtless and glistening with sweat. He runs a towel over his short hair and face, and drapes it over his bare shoulder.
It’s been two weeks since that shit happened with his sister and I can’t stop thinking about it. Lemmy had asked me to go out for dinner because she wanted to update me on what happened last year. She’s been trying to figure out who keeps leaking shit about the team to the press. She was the only one who didn’t think it was Irina, the woman who tried to ruin Forker’s life last season. She’s somehow managed to convince me that it wasn’t her, too. We met up to talk about it, but never got the chance, because Ariana Forkerro was being berated by some piece of shit in the same restaurant.
I am not entirely convinced I wouldn’t have hit him if Fork hadn’t shown up.
I saw the look on her face. The shame. That woman is usually a beacon of confidence, but she looked like a shell of herself as he judged her across those ramekins of creme brulee. Murder suddenly didn’t seem like too volatile a crime.
I didn’t miss the way she studied Lemmy and me all night, either. I don’t know why I made it clear, multiple times, that there wasn’t anything romantic going on between the two of us. I did it casually, asking Lemmy if that date with the investment banker went well, not sitting too close to her or touching her in any way—however I could drive the point home.
It’s been bothering me that I acted like that, because I was making it clear to Ariana, Forker’s fucking sister, that I was not tied down.
What is wrong with me?
I tell her that flirting with me is out of line all the time, but I don’t seem to want it to stop, either. I have no clue why, and I need to sort that out immediately. Ariana toned down her usual antics because she was clearly unsure about the Lemmy of it all. Yet, in those moments where she let her eyes linger, I ate it up with a look of warning as if I wasn’t begging for her to ask me an inappropriate question again.
“I’ve got a question for you.”
Forkerros really need to stop asking me questions.
I wipe my towel across the back of my neck. I pulled my hair back because it’s much more comfortable to sweat with it out of the way, and Forker already called me a shih tzu twice. He also started barking at me between sets. He hates the bun. Bald ass loser.
“Are you bringing a date to Lowesy’s wedding?” he asks.
Not the question that I was expecting.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought about it. I didn’t RSVP with one.” I grab my water bottle and take a swig, my chest already sore from the bench press. I upped my weight today and I’m going to suffer for the next three days because of it.
“You aren’t bringing Lemmy?” he asks, cocking a brow.
For fuck’s sake. I’d love it if he dropped this. He’s so insistent on Lemmy and me getting together, so sure that we alreadyhave. He hasn’t shut up about this in months and it’s starting to irk me. Lemmy and I haven’t told anybody about the gray area of our friendship. It’s nobody’s business, and we don’t want people looking deeper into what this is. We’re just really good friends who fuck when we need to. If Fork caught wind of it, he’d probably pay a witch on the internet to do a spell to convince us to get married.
“Why would I be bringing Lemmy?” I ask carefully.
