Page 65 of Everything But Mine

I shrug. “She’s having fun. With my friend, at that.”

He smiles. “What makes you think she isn’t fucking him the way she was fucking you?”

I clench my hands into fists under the table. “Daray, don’t talk to me like I’m one of those idiots who clapped at your toast.” I square my shoulders. His arm drops. “I’m man enough that I’m not threatened by some twerking.” I arch my brow. “Are you?”

He rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles. I follow his eyes back to the dance floor. Diego whispers something into Amanda’s ear, and when she laughs and tips her head back, her stomach pushes forward. And it’s there, the subtle but present outline of the swell in her lower stomach. I flick my gaze to Daray. His eyes are a little wider, his grin malicious.

With his stare locked on Amanda’s stomach. “Well, well, well.” He claps my shoulder again and gestures toward her belly. “So, did I beat you to something else there, bro? Or were you fucking her when she was mine? What is it, Eric? Have fun with my ex tonight, Eric.”

The hand on the center of my back is different, lighter. Val moves closer, her voice a whisper. “Take a breath.”

I do.

“He’s compensating. You see that, right?” She doesn’t wait for me to nod, but I do look at her. “All of this”—he gestures toward his bulk, his bright shirt, the sheen of effort in his hair where he’s retreated next to my brother—“it’s just noise.”

I glance over, and Daray laughs at something no one said.

Val’s voice drops even lower. “And Eric, listen to me. You know I don’t hand this shit out for free. He could have a dozen of those with her. He’s still got nothing on you.”

I take a deeper breath. I shut my eyes and force a chuckle when I open them. “Please, Val. I can’t handle a dozen children.”

She laughs. The sound is strange coming from her. “You’re the better man.”

I think it’s a fact. Val and I are friends.

We’re drawn toward the noise at the other table. The tension from Daray’s words still clings to me, but when Val and I join the ten people sitting at a table for six, it dissipates. It’s loud, messy, and familiar chaos. We could be at the after-dinner craziness of every summer trip, where we grew up, half-feral and half-free in each other’s cabins.

A hand clamps onto my shoulder. I jerk, half-expecting Daray. It’s Matteo.

He doesn’t move his grip. Matteo has always been one of the quiet anchors in this group. He never took shit from Keith or Max. His deep tawny skin is flushed from laughing, black curls gelled away from his temples. Unlike Diego, he avoids speaking Spanish. The accent Keith used to torment him for has softened after years in Boston, smoothed into something almost local.

A trace slips through when he says, “That didn’t look nice,” and deep brown eyes flick toward Daray, who’s now talking to the groom’s father. My father. The yellow shirt makes him impossible to miss.

“It wasn’t.”

I look for Amanda on the dance floor, but only find Diego. Our gazes meet across the ballroom. His dark brown eyes find mine before darting down at the table. I tense as he clicks around to queue up more songs.

Amanda’s nowhere in sight. I had Daray covered, but I can think of at least two other people who’d give her a hard time.

“Have you met Val?” I ask Matteo, trying to hold myself steady until I find Amanda. “She’s here with Diego.”

Matteo chuckles. “Like with Diego? As in together?”

Before I can answer, Val cuts in. “As together as oil and water.”

Matteo laughs and studies her with interest. She doesn’t flinch, but her hand pulls back, and her spine straightens.

“They met in Italy,” I add. “She used to be Amanda’s roommate.”

Matteo nods slowly, amused as he studies the woman in front of him. As if on cue, Diego slips in beside us, sweat still clinging to his forehead.

“She’s also my date,” Diego says to Matteo.

Val scoffs, but doesn’t deny it. Diego and Matteo fist-bump, the gesture more polite than earnest. Then, Diego taps my shoulder, so I lean down.

“You gonna let me be the only guy to dance with your date, or are you gonna step up?”

I catch myself before I flinch. I smile and fake laugh, my shoulders shaking as if I’m in on the joke, and there isn’t fear twisting under my ribs. Now, I can’t shake the feeling like I’ve shown up late to this audition for Amanda’s partner that I’m trying to land.