Page 24 of Tony

“I don’t need you to get me dinner. I can get it myself.”

“You’re probably gonna run into Soshee,” I say lightly, trying to joke about the fiery red-headed waitress who has feelings for him that aren’t reciprocated.

His machine starts buzzing again. Clearly, he is ignoring me.

I don’t like fighting with him. This is not what we do. I want us to go back to the way it’s supposed to be. Where he smiles at me and I laugh at his grin and fun antics. We’re a good team. A friendly team. We tease each other, and have deep serious conversations about bombpops verses creamsicles, and we’re always on the same team when his twin brothers break out a Frisbee for an impromptu game.

We’re friends, for fuck sake. Why does he have to complicate things with deep feelings?

His new anger is… intimidating. I don’t think we’ve ever had a proper fight. Definitely not one where I tell him to drop me off three miles outside of town and he actually does it.

So I’m not used to this attitude of his. I feel a little unsure of myself as I wait in the doorway.

“What?” he snaps, pausing the machine. But he doesn’t turn to look at me. Doesn’t even glance over his shoulder.

“Look—”

“I’m over it, Belinda. OK? Just… go away.”

He goes back to his ink.

“Fine,” I say, turning on my heel and heading back to the front of the shop. But I mutter, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” the whole way.

I order the food and then sit on my stool, tapping my fingernails on the glass counter as I wait for it to be ready for pickup.

This is not my fault. I did not lead Vann on. I tried to set him up with Tara, for fuck’s sake. And we had a good time when we did the little road trip to Key West. We went to the beach and had a party with the freaking Dumas brothers. We slept in the same cottage, and drank, and had meals together, and… that was fun.

I mean, the whole going home thing was weird, and seeing Tony was unsettling, but the Vann and Belinda part? That was fun.

Why can’t he see that we’re good together as just friends?

Why must he push this thing we don’t have between us?

It’s not my fault I don’t feel his pull, right?

I sit there for a few more minutes, then slip my jacket on and head out to pick up the food. Praying that Soshee isn’t working the takeout counter.

She’s not. Thank God for small miracles. Her younger cousin, Annabelle, is. She takes my money and tells me she’ll be right back with the food without any animosity.

I like Annabelle. She’s only about seventeen, but she’s cute, and friendly, and doesn’t hate me because Vann and I are BFFs.

Well, used to be. I guess that’s over now.

I really hate him for ruining our good thing. I’m seriously pissed that he’s fucking all this up.

But I take a deep breath and absently wander towards the edge of the dining room. And who the hell do I see?

Tony Dumas. Having… dinner? With Soshee Ameci.

“What the fuck?” I mutter.

They’re both laughing. Staring into each other’s eyes from across a table near the window. Two wine bottles and a dessert plate between them with remnants that look like they might’ve been the famous Ameci Chocolate Lava Cake.

Tony leans across the table and swipes his finger over Soshee’s lip, like she had a drip of chocolate there, and then he licks his fingertip.

I gag and turn away.

Vann is wrong about Tony and me. We actually do hate each other. It’s just… hate sex is… hot.