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Tell the world that it’s not just a fling.
My eyes begged her to come closer, my entire body hot with anticipation.
She was on the verge of something. I could tell.
She took a step forward, toward me…then three steps back.
Then turned around and ran away, leaving me at the bar with Wyatt and Gabriella.
I would say I was a fucking mess, but that would be an insult to messes all over the world. I finally understood the idea behind the word ‘gutted’. I felt like a fish, my insides hooked, ripped, and thrown into a frying pan.
Great, now I was disappointed and hungry.
A minute later, I stood, letting Gabriella slide off of my knee again. She went down with a loud bang when her bony ass met the floor. I slapped a twenty onto the counter.
“I’m heading home.”
I gave my brother a fist bump.
Then proceeded to go back home and lick my Tennessee-shaped wounds.
Three days had passed since the rehearsal dinner.
I’d made sure Bear didn’t see me cry. He was already going through so many changes in his life.
Seeing Cruz with Gabriella fractured something inside me—some stupid, primal pride, borne from having none whatsoever when it came to my own family, I suspected.
I couldn’t bring myself to call him, to text him, to explain why I couldn’t simply claim him.
Because no one has ever claimed me, and the fear of rejection, no matter how unlikely, immobilizes me.
My body just wouldn’t go to him at The Drunk Clam, no matter how loudly my brain screamed at my feet to move.
Cruz, in return, had finally given up on me. It was the first time since we’d gotten back from the cruise that he hadn’t called, texted, or dropped in unannounced.
It wasn’t all bad.
Rob came over the day after the rehearsal dinner and played ball with Bear in the backyard for all of ten minutes, during which Bear fell down numerous times, split his lip, and took down part of my fence while trying to intercept, before Rob mewled, “Dang it all to hell. You sure you’re my kid? You ain’t got an athletic bone in your entire body!”
After which Bear had made Rob get on his skateboard and try to skate. Rob fell like a brick five times and was met with Bear’s slow, taunting drawl, “Darn it all to heck, you sure you’re my pops? I’ve seen better balance on a rubber ball!”
I’d begun to suspect these two weren’t going to find their footing, but then Rob took out his secret weapon: root beer and Monopoly.
The three of us enjoyed a two-hour game, complete with takeout burgers Rob had gone out to get, himself, and a chocolate chip pie from the local bakery.
Rob had been a perfect gentleman to me the entire time.
After my half-hearted rejection during the rehearsal dinner, in which I said I belonged to myself (the sentiment remained the same, but in retrospect, I should’ve made it clear I was seeing Cruz), I went on to send Rob a series of texts explaining that my loyalty, gratitude, and panties belonged to his ex-best friend, so he should stop embarrassing himself by trying.
But that was two days ago, and this was today.
And today, I had a bad feeling my wishy-washy approach to Cruz was going to bite me in the butt.
The old-school door chime above the diner’s entrance rang. In walked Mrs. Holland and her daughter Gabriella, both of them wearing matching brown polka-dotted summer dresses, straw hats, and designer purses.
In my opinion, matching parent-and-child clothes were cute only before puberty. Now, they just looked like the twins from The Shining.
“Table for two, please!”
