Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“Give him to me.” I reach out, but Chase doesn’t pass him over right away, so I take a step closer.
Chase shakes his head, as if just realizing what I said. “Yeah, man. I was going to order some more wings or something anyway.”
He passes him over, but Deaton’s still between us when Payton reappears.
She steps up, taking him from both our hands. “Thanks,” she mumbles, sliding between our chests to get to the others, but I gently wrap my hand around her upper arm, halting her movement.
Her eyes snap my way, pleading and flicking to Chase for the briefest of moments. “I’m going to go sit by Ari and Noah. He wanted to hold him, so…”
I want to hold him.
I miss him. Can’t you see that?
My fingers twitch against her soft skin, and it takes ample effort to let go, but I do. I step back, my jaw clenched so fucking tight I might need a dentist after this shit.
It’s fine.
No big deal.
Noah and Ari lost so much, it’s good for them to bond with my little guy.
Besides, I’m still his favorite.
Everything is fine.
When I face forward again, Chase is still there.
He eyes me warily, keeping his voice low as he leans in. “You good, brother?”
“You gonna stop pissing me off, brother?”
His head jerks back, and I curse under my breath, lurch past him, and head to the bar on the other side of the room, taking a minute to settle myself. Or trying, at the very least.
It helps that the place is packed to the brim, especially since the bartender doesn’t bother or forgets to ask for my ID—not that it would matter, because I have a fake one that hasn’t failed me yet—when I order two pitchers of cheap beer.
The waiter follows me back to our section, setting several chilled mugs beside the pitchers, and I look up at the others with a forced smile.
I meet Noah’s gaze first. His head is cocked as he stares at me, Deaton jumping up and down in his hands, his little feet smaller than the cardboard coaster he’s kicking around. Ari sits at their side, concern written in her gaze.
My attention falls to the tabletop, and I fight the scowl threatening to take over.
Am I being that transparent here?
What do they see when they look at me?
A man who isn’t wanted?
Fuck.
I grit my teeth and pour the golden liquid into a mug, offer it to my friends.
Every single person passes, and my pulse jumps in my throat.
Fuck it. Whatever.
I drink the glass myself. And then I drink another.
And another.
A while later, a smile breaks across my face.
Who finished the other pitcher?
“Guess I didn’t have to drink alone after all.” A chuckle leaves me, and I glance up when Brady drops beside me. “My man!” I shout, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and yanking his big-ass body closer. “I fuckin’ love you.”
“Ditto.” He chuckles low, placing his forearms on the table and coming so close my vision crosses a bit. “You feelin’ good over here?”
“Fuck yeah.” My body seems to sway a bit, and I laugh again, lifting my glass. When nothing comes out, I bring it before my eyes. A frown is instant. “Who drank my beer?”
Brady scoffs, bumping his shoulder into mine. “Might wanna slow down, my boy. Long drive back tomorrow.”
“I don’t have to drive.” I shrug, thinking about the long-ass way here. “I just gotta sit there in my seat. Get ignored some more.”
Brady glares, and when I look up, Payton is staring with a turbulent expression.
Is she sad? Mad? Worried? I don’t know, but if I know her like I think I do, she’s a bit of all three. But why? I’m the one dying over here.
It’s my chest she’s cracking open and my heavy beating heart she’s tearing out, one tug at a time. And for what?
Or is it for who?
No. It can’t be.
But what if it is?
The alcohol in my system brings my blood to a boil at the sideways thoughts, and my eyes narrow on the pretty blue ones holding me hostage.
“Hey, Brady.” My voice carries over the noise, my gaze locked on my girl. “What’s Payton’s favorite thing to drink?”
“What?” he chuckles.
Payton’s eyes fall then, and guess who walks up behind her? I glare at my other best friend, but I repeat my question to the one at my side. “Her favorite drink. What is it?”
“Uh…Dr P?”
My limbs shake. “Wrong.”
Chase shakes his head, dropping down on the bench-like seat beside her, and she faces his way, answering whatever question he asks.
“Dude,” Brady whispers. “What am I missin’?”
He might keep talking. It’s hard to tell when my eyes are locked on the Chatty fucking Cathys a few spots over.
What could they possibly have to say to each other?
Chase hardly talks to any of us anymore, ever since he realized his mistakes with my sister.