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“A class-A jerk.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that. But first things first—can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? A milkshake? Maybe some Tylenol? Scratch that, I’m going to get you a Tylenol anyway. This looks nasty.”
“It’s mostly harmless, but what I’m about to say to you isn’t, so get me a cup of coffee and sit your cute ass down.”
I wasn’t used to courting women.
I especially wasn’t used to popping into their lives unprompted, which was exactly what’d been happening with Tennessee. Ever since we started sleeping with each other on the cruise, she hadn’t called, texted, or given me any indication she wanted anything serious with me.
At some point, I had to get a shred of commitment from her, too. But for now, I gave her some leeway, considering her insecurities and history.
She pinned me with an unreadable look, her concern morphing into trepidation. “That doesn’t sound too good.”
“Depends on who you’re asking.”
“Wait here.”
A minute later, she came back with a fresh cup of coffee and an apple pie that had seen better days, probably in the early nineties. She slipped two Tylenols into my hand discreetly.
A waitress I guessed was Trixie, the new girl, took over Tennessee’s tables while we spoke, patting her shoulder to show her allegiance.
I began by explaining I hadn’t known Rob was going to show up to the bachelor party, and then the thing he’d told me, about me getting his leftovers, and how he’d left me no choice but to punch him square in the face.
“So now he knows we’re hooking up?” She paled.
Was that what we were doing? Hooking up?
I felt a second hit, this time to the gut.
I wanted to correct her definition, but now wasn’t the time.
“Not necessarily. I kept it vague. Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the fact he called you leftovers? This is the so-called reformed man who wants a second chance with you.”
Translation: he is getting a second chance with you over your dead body, right?
“I wish you’d let me deal with Rob. This only brings more attention to me, Cruz.” She rubbed her forehead tiredly. “Messy Nessy strikes again, causing trouble between two best friends. Trinity’s going to kill me.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I pointed out.
“She told me to stay away from you.”
“We’re not having this conversation again. You need to stand up for yourself.”
“Says who? Someone who is still trying to be everyone’s darling?”
This was getting old.
And tiresome.
Even though I knew she was right—I was still far too agreeable to everyone around here, even those who needed a good ass-kicking—I stood up.
“Where’re you going?” she looked left and right, whisper-shouting.
God forbid someone knew we were having an intimate conversation about something that didn’t have anything to do with how I wanted my eggs fried or our siblings’ wedding.
“Gonna go find a girlfriend with a spine. If you see one, send her my way, would you?”
“A girlfriend?” She jumped up from her seat, her eyes big and wild.
