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The poor woman regards our weird trio with a skeptical air, eyebrows rising high on her forehead, and then stares at Marissa interrogatively.
Marissa throws her hands in the air. “I don’t have time to argue. Make it for three.”
The hostess nods and grabs two more menus from her booth, giving us a tight smile and gesturing toward the main restaurant. “Please follow me.”
We sit at the table in awkward silence, the dude and I glaring at each other, while Marissa is pointedly not staring at either of us while turning the menu pages with loud, curt flips.
A server arrives, collects our orders, and takes the menus away, coming back right away with our drinks. Once the glasses are on the table and the server has left, Marissa has no choice but to make eye contact.
Her gaze finally sets on Gabriel. “You go first.”
I bite the protest at the back of my throat and take the punishment like a good boy.
“I know I messed up,” he begins.
My jaw tightens. The dude’s definitely here for the same reason I am. To get her back. It doesn’t matter, I can take him. What’s a little competition? I’m all for it.
To disturb the momentum of his grand speech, I bat my knife against my coke glass. Petty, but effective. Both the dude and Marissa turn to glare at me.
“Oh, is this disturbing you?” I drop the knife and wave at the guy. “Please. Please, continue.”
The dude’s nostrils flare, but he turns back to Marissa. “I messed up, but I’ve learned my lesson—”
“That’s twice you said you’ve learned your lesson,” Marissa counters. “If you’d really learned it the first time, we wouldn’t be sitting here.”
Mr. Perfect frowns as if he doesn’t know what she’s referring to, and I can’t help but wonder what both offenses are.
“The cabin was the first time,” Marissa clarifies.
What cabin? Horror images of them together on a romantic mountain retreat fill my head.
“Right,” he admits, looking mortified. “And I’m sorry. But this time it’s true. Believe me, Marissa, I love her. The past week without her has been the worst of my life.”
Her.
My battling instincts relax a notch.
Marissa’s features soften. “Blake hasn’t been the best either.”
The guy’s eyes fill with hope. “You think she still loves me?”
“Of course she loves you, you dumbass. The problem has never been her lack of feelings for you.”
The dude nods his head in defeat. “She doesn’t trust me anymore, I know. But I want to earn that trust back. I’m going to work hard for it, I swear. All I need is a second chance.”
Now I perk up in my booth. The man is stealing all my lines.
Marissa studies him for a long moment. “What do you have in mind?”
Mr. Sorry begins to expose an elaborate plan to take this Blake to her senior prom. Marissa keeps her eyes on him all the time, but every time the word prom is mentioned, the familiar brick of guilt settles in my gut and a red flush creeps up Marissa’s neck all the way to her cheeks while she studiously avoids looking my way.
Even if she keeps stone still and not looking at me, I know we’re both thinking about that night. The night I left her like the worst coward. The single, most-regretted low moment of my life.
When the dude finally shuts his trap, Marissa gives him another long, appraising look and then says, “Okay, you’ll get your shot.”
The guy’s shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you—”
“But I can’t promise Blake will forgive you,” Marissa continues. “And if she doesn’t, swear you’ll leave her alone, Gabriel. Deal?”
