Page 115
“You know your insults bounce right off me, right?”
She flicks her ponytail. “Good thing I have a lot of them.”
“Can you two stop arguing for one second?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. With my injury and Nina leaving, my temper’s been simmering below the surface. “I’m not changing, so if they want to throw me out of the restaurant, fine.”
Wyn grabs her purse from the counter, swinging it around so it hits Cruz’s shoulder. “Fine. Let’s go. I’m starving, and Dad’s waiting.”
We leave the apartment and head down into the parking garage. Cruz trails behind Wyn like a lost kitten until we climb into my Range Rover. She slams the door in Cruz’s face before he can say goodbye, so I give him a sympathetic salute in the window.
Pressing the start button, I pull the car out of the parking lot, and Wyn goes off about Cruz. She talks at me for the entire fifteen-minute drive, never once taking a breath. With those lungs, my sister should’ve been an Olympic swimmer, not a golfer. Though, it’s a solid distraction from thoughts of Nina, so I’m glad she’s talking.
We pull up to the valet at the restaurant, and Wyn hops out of the car. She looks me over in my sweats, eyes lingering on some stain, and pulls me into a tight hug. “You’re going to be fine, Ro. Thanks for driving and for coming. It means a lot to me that you’re trying with Dad.”
“I’m only doing this for you.”
Tossing my keys to the valet, I hold open the restaurant’s door for Wyn. Chandeliers dangle from the wooden ceiling above the waiters carrying trays of steaming food. Every eye turns to me in my joggers, and I immediately feel out of place in the crowd of button-downs.
My father’s sitting in the corner by some fiddle leaf fig, staring at the menu through his reading glasses. I only know the name of the plant because Nina’s got one in her room that she loves. I wince.
Great. There’s that ache in my chest again. I scan the restaurant, jerking to a stop when I see the girl by the hostess.
No.
Sweat beads on my neck.
Nina’s by the counter with that art guy. Brandon? Can’t remember his name. Not that I care. At least she’s frowning at him like she doesn’t want him standing so close to her.
She’s wearing her overalls without a shirt underneath, so all her bare tattooed skin is exposed. She looks beautiful, but she’s not smiling, and I need her to be happy even if we aren’t together.
The asshole throws an arm around her shoulders, but she dodges the attempt. I swear the red I see is blood-colored. I’m going to break his hands for touching her if that’s not what she wants. No, I can’t because I’m in a shoulder brace, but I’m tempted.
Really tempted.
Maybe I’ll break a finger.
I sweep my good hand through my hair, trying not to act like an immature jackass. “What the hell is Nina doing here, Wyn?”
She twists her ponytail. “Oh, did I forget to mention that I asked her to meet me here to drop off some notes for my art history final? My mistake. I thought I told you. Didn’t I tell you?”
“You know you didn’t tell me,” I cut out, pulling at the back of my neck. “I would’ve shaved.”
“I specifically remember telling you to shave before we left.”
This restaurant feels like a sauna. I pull on the collar of my sweatshirt. “Is it hot in here? Feels hot.”
“No, I’m really cold.”
“Really? I’m sweating.” I tug at the material, airing it out. “You should’ve told me she was meeting you here.”
“But then you wouldn’t have come,” she says with zero shame.
Nina glances over her shoulder, and her eyes pop when she sees me. Her gaze drifts down my sweats, and great, I think she winces at the stain on my clothes. I scramble to take my cap off, fix my hair, and flip it backward since she likes it that way, and now Nina’s walking over here, and I miss her and want to hug her and fuck this, I’m hugging her.
I crush her against my chest.
My throat ignites now that I’ve got her in my arms again. I glare over her head at the flannel guy and press a hard kiss to her forehead. He rolls his eyes.
Nina pulls back, glancing up at me behind her glasses, and I paste on a stiff grin. “Hey.”
