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“How disappointing.”
He just stares at me until we both start to laugh.
“Jesus.” He drops his phone on the table and wipes at his eyes. “Can you imagine me with a club, grunting at Jarett when he sits down at breakfast…”
“…and he could grunt back, and you’d communicate with grunts…”
“…and throw bits of bacon at each other.”
“Wait, now that’s gross.”
We laugh some more.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I finally admit, when our laughter has died away. “We’re not really together.”
“Define ‘together.’ Because you sleep together every night, Gigi. You hold hands. You hug. You fuck.”
“But we don’t really talk. Not about the things that matter.”
“Define the things that matter. Why don’t everyday things matter?”
He’s right. But… “We don’t talk about the future. About the gang. If he’ll ever leave it.” I swallow hard. “I don’t think he will. He made this promise to his sick mom to stay in the gang and look after his brother. And he won’t discuss it.”
Merc’s expression darkens. “You’re right, that matters. Quite a fucking lot.”
Yeah.
So are we together when we can’t dream of a future together? When his promise matters more than himself, more than us?
How does that work? Where does it leave us?
How will life go on when he smashes my heart to pieces?
“So where is he?” Sydney asks the moment I approach her table in the coffee shop. “You brought him along, didn’t you? Say yes.”
“He is right outside, talking to someone.” I take a seat and grab her latte to steal a sip. “He’ll be right in.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
“Ah-huh.”
“And he still came? Damn. Impressive.”
I give her the side-eye. “Okay. Just how horrible were you to him last time you saw him?”
“I wasn’t horrible to him. Maybe a little snarky.” She sticks her tongue out at me. “Hey, I was stressed. Can’t blame a girl.”
Not sure about that. I’m a forgiving person, and I give myself entirely over to the people I care for, like her. But man, she’s been making it hard, and patience isn’t infinite.
“Oh, there he is.” Sydney looks like she’s in dire need of popcorn and soda as she watches Jarett walk into the coffee shop.
I twist in my seat to see what she’s seeing, and yeah, there’s Jarett, his tall frame and broad shoulders filling the door, his presence filling the whole coffee shop, erasing everyone else, the faces and chatter and noise.
With his dark hair and light eyes, the high cheekbones and full lips, with that physique that tells anyone looking that he can hold his own in a fight, he’s turning heads.
And it’s a ringing silence inside my mind as he spots us and smiles before heading our way.
Whoa, he’s gorgeous.
