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I just hope that she doesn’t use this as an excuse to run away again.
“I asked her out,” I admit. “The day you walked in on us, I asked her to dinner. I asked her once before, but she wasn’t ready. This time she said yes, but the moment she saw you, she backtracked. Fucking left. I texted her about the date anyway, but she stood me up and decided to pretend I didn’t exist.”
He grimaces. “Because of me?”
“Don’t know. Maybe it just got too real. Maybe I did something without realizing it.” I hate the bitter note in my voice, but I can’t help it. “And right now, we’re sleeping together again. Just that. We’re friends. It’s not a big deal.”
“But you still want more.”
I put the onions and pancetta into the skillet. They start sizzling immediately in the butter and olive oil mixture. I’m so familiar with this recipe that I could do it blindfolded, but right now I wish I never planned to make it in the first place. “I mean, yeah.”
“Seb.”
My brother’s voice is wheedling, urging me to look at him. I pour half a cup of cream into a prep bowl. I need to separate the egg yolks so I can whisk them with the cream, grate the parmesan cheese, and chop the parsley for garnish. I always add in peas, too, even though the recipe I work from doesn’t. A recipe like this is easy to navigate. All recipes are, with patience and a bit of skill. I wish I had more to focus on—anything to avoid this conversation. I should have made dessert myself.
“Sebastian, seriously.”
I crack open one of the eggs against the edge of the counter.
“What?”
“She’s just stringing you along.”
I accidentally puncture the egg yolk. It runs all over my hand, mixing with the whites. I throw it out and rinse off my hands. “It’s not like that.”
“You need to get out. End it. She’s fucking with you because she knows you won’t push her away.”
“Did I miss the part of this conversation where I asked for your advice?”
“Dude, come on. If she wanted to be with you, she’d be with you.”
I manage to separate out the yolk this time around, then make quick work of the other two. I give the mixture in the skillet a too-vigorous stir; a couple pieces of pancetta jump ship. There’s a pit in my stomach the size of the moon. “I get it, you’re a relationship guy now. Good for fucking you, but not everyone is so lucky.”
“You could have that with someone else. Sure, Mia is appealing, I like hanging out with her and she means a lot to Pen, but there’s no way she doesn’t know how you feel. She’s ignoring it because she likes fucking you. She’s acting like a—”
“Don’t fucking say it,” I snap. “Don’t do it, Cooper.”
He walks around the counter, jerking his hand through his hair. “I’m trying to help you.”
I laugh incredulously. “I know what you’re doing. Stop it.”
“You’re just going to let her play with your heart until she gets bored and moves on?”
I move the skillet away from the heat. “I’d rather have this than nothing.”
“You deserve more. You at least deserve the truth about why she fucking ghosted you.”
“And she’s going to tell me eventually.”
He raises an eyebrow as he takes another sip of beer. “Oh, yeah? Did she promise you that before or after she started sucking your cock again?”
I back him against the counter. The beer slips from his hand, crashing against the floor, but neither of us move to clean it up. Adrenaline rushes through me; my hand clenches into a fist. My bruised finger aches. He stares at me with those stalwart blue eyes, unblinking and unwilling to back down.
The only time we ever fought—a proper fight out on the lawn, with kicks and punches—was back in senior year of high school, when a girl we both had feelings for played us off each other. I thought she liked me, Cooper thought she liked him, and in reality, she was sleeping with us both. Richard let us have it out until we both had bloody noses and were breathing so hard, we couldn’t talk, and then he stood us up and corrected our form. We swore we’d never get physical with each other again, but right now I’m tempted to punch him right in the fucking mouth. I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
“Go on, Sebby,” he says, his mouth tilting into a smirk. “Defend the girl you’re fine just fucking. Because it’s so casual, right?”
I tighten my grip on his shirt, forcing him a little closer. His body is relaxed; I’m the only one here who is close to losing his shit. The pit in my stomach yawns, flashing teeth. I could punch him right in that smug mouth, and he wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let me, just to prove a point. I went to bat for Mia in an instant, zero to fucking sixty. No thoughts, no hesitation, just a tidal wave of feeling.
