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“Bryce,” Didi said, “I need a word with you.” She elbowed her way past Paulie and took her son’s arm.
“Sure, Ma.”
Didi whispered into Bryce’s ear.
Bryce jerked back. “No way, Mom. You have it backward.”
“I doubt it very much, Bryce.”
Bryce looked at Paulie. “No. You’re definitely wrong.”
“Bryce,” Didi said, her voice getting harder, “do you really want to be with someone called the Chicken Princess? You can do better.”
Paulie’s face went purple with embarrassment. “Excuse me,” she said with terrible dignity. She turned to leave.
“Don’t you move a muscle,” Bryce said, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. He turned to his mother. “No, Mom, I can’t. Paulie is a great person. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Trust me, I do.”
“No, you don’t,” he said sharply. People were quieting down around him. “You judge everything on how much it cost or how it looks. Where have you been these past two weeks while Dad was dying? What kind of a wife leaves then, huh? Paulie has been a great friend to me, and if I want to date her, I will.”
“Don’t be like your father,” Didi said, her voice dripping with contempt. “Befriending every loser who comes along.”
Bryce stood up straighter. “You couldn’t give me a higher compliment, Ma. And you’re the one who’s losing.”
With that, Bryce took Paulie by the shoulders. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, and without further ado, he kissed her. Hard. Paulie’s hands flapped a little (like a chicken, Lucas couldn’t help thinking), then settled on Bryce’s waist. Bryce pulled back, then kissed her again, more gently this time.
Lucas looked at Colleen. She was smiling, just a little, at Bryce and Paulie, and for some reason, it sliced him in half.
It was time for him to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
COLLEENWASCLEANINGthe bar the next morning at ten, indulging in the healing powers of Clorox Clean-Up, when a knock came at the door.
It was Bryce.
She opened it. “Hey,” she said.
He looked...great.
And he was wearing the black Thneed.
In a weird way, it had a certain metrosexual charm on him, dangling over his tank-top T-shirt and gym shorts.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “Does that sweater mean what I think it means?”
He grinned. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“So ironic to hear you say that.”
He grimaced. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to apologize for ruining things with you and Lucas.”
She sighed. “No. I should’ve told him. But I figured it would only hurt him, and here we are, hurt anyway.”
“Can I fix that?”
“Can you? Because that would be great.”
