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“Jeremy?”
And even through my drunken haze, I feel my heart skip.
Fuck.
“Jer? Are you…”
“My heart,” I tell him.
“Your…your heart?”
“It’s…it’s broken,” I tell him with a sigh. And then a hiccup.
There’s a short little huff of air—like a laugh. Then, “You’re drunk.”
“Waaaaasteddd,” I sing.
Another laugh, followed by a clearing of a throat.
“Mason,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t like today.”
Again, it’s quiet. Probably only for a second or two, but it feels like forever.
“Are you alone?”
I scowl. “No.”
And then suddenly, Gabe’s there, popping in out of absolutely nowhere like he’s fucking Nightcrawler. His black lacquered nails whip out at me, and I tense.
“Gimme that,” he says firmly.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurs to me this might be a bad idea.
But the thought comes a half-a-second too late, because he’s already got my phone pressed to his ear by the time I finish thinking it.
“Hey there, blue eyes. Yep. Uh huh. Oh don’t worry, he won’t.” Gabe’s gaze flicks to mine, narrowing slightly. I flip him off, and he coughs a laugh, covering his mouth. Then, “I know, babe. This ain’t my first rodeo. Yep, I’ll tell him. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Uh huh, uh huh, bye now.”
There might have been pauses between all that but hell if I know. Everything’s blurring together.
I sigh as he hands me back the phone.
“That boy’s a mess over you.”
Pushing up into a seated position, I reach over, clutching his shoulder, and I tell him with all the seriousness in the world, “I hate him.”
He smiles sadly, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.”
My teeth click together, and even through the veil of liquor pressing in on me, steadily snuffing out what little remains of my awareness—telling me I’ll be either passing out or blacking out very soon—I feel a pang shoot through my chest at Gabe’s certainty.
“I know,” I find myself saying.
In my hand, my phone vibrates, lighting up with a new notification.
We both look down at it like it’s bomb about to go off.
