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Hours later, I’m staring at a shit hand of cards across my patio table. Over the citronella candle in the center, I see Todd muttering at his cards, eyes flitting back and forth like he’s trying to devise a plan. Next to him, Fred starts to say something, and then stops.
My phone buzzes on the table next to me.
PIPER DELMONICO
How’s it going? Is everyone playing nice?
FITZ WESTFALL
I don’t know about *nice.* Vic has won three games so far, if he wins a fourth we’re calling it a fuckin night and heading to Top Shelf if you two want to meet us for late night snacks and Dr. Pepper.
“Tell your girlfriend we all said hi,” Mateo teases, knocking my shoulder with his own, and I don’t correct him as I lock my phone, waiting for Piper’s response.
I see Freddy look at me, waiting for me to grind out a retort, but when it doesn’t come, he looks immediately to Vic, who isn’t meeting my gaze, but has a smile on his face that I suspect is due to more than just another winning hand of cards. The Long Island Iced Tea at the bar just a block away from Piper’s apartment is apparently his favorite - and the stipulation for playing another round was the worst hand buys the best hand’s drinks.
“Oh shit,” Fred says, setting his hand down. “Yeah, no, I’m out, guys.” He turns his attention to me, never one to linger long on his own defeat. “You locked it down?”
“I mean she’s not about to change her name to Westfall or anything.” I scratch at my ear, setting down my own cards. “Fold.”
PIPER DELMONICO
We’re in for the night, mud masks on and starting S3 of Vampire Diaries.
FITZ WESTFALL
Which brother is she with now?
“Yet,” Mateo teases, and I kick his shin under the table. He jolts, leaning down to rub at it. “Fuck you, Will. I saw how you looked at her.” He meets Todd’s gaze, which is just as hopeless as Vic’s is triumphant. “No dice?” Todd shakes his head, sipping at the seltzer in his hand and setting down his own cards as Mateo mirrors his actions. They both look to Vic, who’s still grinning.
PIPER DELMONICO
Aw, you remembered. Color me impressed.
“We don’t have to tell Piper about me kicking your ass,” Vic says a littletoosweetly, leaning forward and resting his chin on his knuckles. “Even though she’s pretty fucking smitten, and I don’t think it has anything to do with your card-playing skills.” Something in my chest flutters, but before I can dwell on it, he sets his hand out in front of him. “Full house, boys.”
Two Long Island Iced Teas later, and Vic’s triumph has him riding a high at the bar. We’re clustered around a high-top table, drinks in hand, while Freddy and Todd shoot a game of one-on-one pool.
Vic has his phone in one hand, a ranch water in the other, and the grin on his face doesn’t quite feel like it’s all due to kicking our asses.
“For someone dishing out shit about Piper being smitten…” I nudge the hand holding his phone, and he looks up, shaking his head like he was clearing a thought away.
“That obvious?” Vic locks his phone, setting it on the table in front of him. I lean forward on my elbows, raising a brow at him.
“You’ve been checking that thing every couple of minutes since we got to the house,” Mateo responds, and even in the crappy lighting of this bar, I can see the color in Vic’s cheeks flare.
“I may be…” He searches for a word. “Talking to someone?” It sounds like a question more than a statement.
“You’re not sure?” Mateo asks, and Vic pops his shoulders. “Look, I’m not saying I’m an expert on-
“Gay men?” Vic finishes, and I nearly snort my IPA out of my nose. “I don’t think even gay men are experts in gay men.”
“Facts,” a passing waiter adds, and I’m glad I’m not mid-sip again. Vic and Mateo chuckle, before I turn back to the man I’ve known just as long as Piper, but feel that I barely know.
He’s such a huge part of her life - Christ, I mean, hemarriedher and Mickey - but I don’t want to pry if it’s not something he’s comfortable with.
After a minute, he takes a steeling breath, and then meets my gaze. “It’s Kyle.”
“Who’s Kyle?” Mateo asks. Freddy makes a half-hearted groan as he sinks the cue ball in a pocket.
