“What are the odds?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Do you wanna find out?”
I sigh, pouting. “I forgot to lock after Lou left.”
It’s not really the truth. I usually never lock the door but I’m a needy loser right now and I want his sympathy.
He looks me over, where I’m flat out on the couch—hood up, arms crossed. He leans a shoulder on the frame, giving me a small smile with a piece of gum between his teeth. Then he tilts his head. “That bad, huh?”
I sigh dramatically, shrugging.
“I brought food,” he says, revealing a bag. “I got you a sub, and—” he draws the word out as he digs into the bag, and pulls up a bag of cherry ropes. My favorite. Of course.
He strides to the kitchen, and my eyes aren’t mine to control, so they travel down his body and fixate on his ass.
Ugh, I’m the worst.
But his black jeans are hugging those globes like they were meant for each other.
Oh, to be a set of clothing.
I clear my throat. “So, what’d you get me?”
“An All-Star for my all-star,” he winks, drying his hands on a towel. And would you look at that? The butterflies I was sure I’d slayed are indeed alive and flapping their nasty little wings in my stomach.
“What’d you get?”
He tuts, gesturing like it’s obvious. “The Stallion.”
I roll my eyes, but yes, that’s exactly how one would describe him. Fuck my life. Honestly. Fuck it.
He scoots my legs over, making room for himself, before he drops down on the couch, handing me my sub.
“So, how’re things with Lou?” he asks around a bite.
They’ve only met a handful of times because I’m scared they’d be good together, and I’m the worst of the worst.
But honestly? That might actually kill me. I can’t lose either of them, and if I’d have to spend the rest of my life being the third wheel to their happily ever after—The Straight Edition™—I might as well kick the bucket.
“She’s got a new job up in Seattle.”
“Yeah? What kind of job?” he asks.
“Eco something-something.” I reply vaguely and reach for the can of Coke on the coffee table.
“Isn’t she a consultant?”
And I both hate and love that he knows that.
“Yeah, eco consultant, I think.”
“Environmental consultant,” he says, crumpling his wrapper.
“What?”
“It’s environmental consultant.”
I throw my own crumpled wrapper at him. He ducks and turns towards me.
