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“I donotneed help,” I ground out.
Gemma lifted her hands, letting them fall lightly on the counter. “I didn't say you did, but Diego wants to help.”
“There's nothing he can do.” I took another gulp of water, willing the churning in my stomach to slow down.
“So is that the whole story?”
“Yes,” I lied.
I wasn't about to tell her that Quinn recommended I take medication. I didn't want to take medication. I wanted to just manage it. It wasn't that I was opposed to medicine in general. Just not for me.
Gemma studied me quietly. “What does Quinn think?”
I lied again. “He’s prescribed some medication, and I’ll start soon.”
Just then, we heard the door to the front of the house opening. Gemma glanced at me, her lips twitching with a smile.
“Thanks for the practice,” I teased.
“He’s early.”
“You knew he would be. He's ready to grill me.”
She snorted a laugh.
Diego appeared a moment later, tossing his backpack in a closet. As he shrugged out of his jacket and kicked his boots off, he called over, “Hey!”
Gemma slipped off the stool and crossed over to him. “Hey there. Dinner should be ready soon.”
For a moment, I might as well have been invisible. Diego dipped his head, giving her a lingering kiss. I looked away, feeling a pang in my chest. Their intimacy was so evident that it was almost its own force.
My mind skipped over to Grant, and I immediately shoved him out of the way. I didnotneed to be dwelling on hot nights with Grant while having dinner with my brother.
A moment later, Gemma returned to the stove to check on the meat. Diego opened the refrigerator and fetched a bottle of beer. He turned to face me as he removed the cap and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Hey, how was your day?” I asked.
After finishing a swallow of his beer, he crossed over, sitting on the stool Gemma had just vacated. “Pretty good. Busy.”
“You're always busy.”
“I could say the same about you,” he replied.
I shrugged. “I like it that way.”
“So do I,” he teased after another swallow of his beer.
I called over to Gemma, “Do you need me to do anything?”
She glanced over, shaking her head. “Nope. Everything's already prepped.” My gaze scanned the counter where she had prepared small bowls of taco fixings. “I'm putting the soft shells in the oven right now.”
“I am freaking starving,” Diego announced when he put his beer bottle on the counter.
“You’re in luck. Gemma's cooking you dinner,” I teased.
Gemma called over, “He cooks as much as I do.”
“I know he does. He's a good man.”
