I turn to Whit. “What are you getting?”
“Ceviche tostadas,” she replies easily.
I blink at her. Surely those aren’t real words. Or maybe my inability to comprehend the menu is because I’m having a stroke.
Reaching up, I scratch the back of my neck. “What’s in that?”
“Um, it’s like a fish salad on a corn tortilla.”
The retching noise that flies out of my mouth can’t be stopped, and Whit laughs. So, honestly, it’s a win, even if I’m no closer to deciding what to eat.
“No, thank you,” I say, scrunching my nose and trying to decode the menu again. “Seafood and I donotget along. Do they have like…tacos here?”
“They do.” With a soft laugh, Whit sidles up next to me and points at the wall of text, allowing my eyes to follow the length of her arm. “Basically half the menu is tacos.”
She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume and imagine brushing her hair off her shoulder so I can kiss her skin. Bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in.
Fuck.That’s not making this any easier.
“Sorry, it’s uh…been a day.” I gulp, rolling my neck and suddenly wishing I hadn’t suggested grabbing food. “Mind reading out the options to me?”
“You can’t read that?” Jonas chirps. Naturally the first time he says anything is to roast me. “Time for some glasses, bro.”
Whit side-eyes him but doesn’t miss a beat. “You want all the options, or just the safe bets?”
“Safe bets. Not looking to gamble with my intestines tonight.”God knows they’re in enough knots as it is.
She rattles off words I’ve never heard before, which makes me feel better about not being able to read them. And followsup each menu item with an explanation, until I settle on a couple beef tacos and a couple chicken. I let Whit do the ordering, even though it means I practically have to wrestle her away when it’s time to pay. I’m sure Alex is the type of guy who doesn’t even suggest that he buy dinner, but if there’s one thing I want to prove—today more than ever before—it’s that he and I are as dissimilar as two guys can get.
Arms loaded with food and glass bottles of a pop brand I’ve never heard of, we settle onto a rickety wooden picnic table. It’s nothing like meals I’ve shared with Whit and Jonas before, and not only because of the mariachi blasting from a Bluetooth speaker. We pick at our dinner in terse silence, until it’s so unbearable I find myself studying the table’s wood grain between bites of the most incredible taco I’ve ever had. Betty’s muzzle rests on top of my thighs, waiting for crumbs to fall into my lap in the same way I’m hoping for any morsel of conversation.
I’m dangerously close to making an inappropriate taco joke to lighten the mood, and at the last second my brain opts to overexplain the menu situation instead. “So I don’t actually need glasses—I can see for miles, man. So good, I’m pretty sure my eye doctor decides if people need glasses based on how their vision stacks up to mine. But anyway, I—well, I have a hard time reading when it’s all scribbled and smushed together like that.
“To be fair, I have a hard time reading, in general. Icanread, it just takes a bit more focus because of my dyslexia. So like…yeah, I could read the menu if I really tried, I’m sure. But it doesn’t come to me fast enough. Then there’s pressure to order and that makes it even harder.”
Jonas gnaws on a two-handed burrito, raising his eyebrow in confusion. And when I brave a glance at Whit, I’m met with soft, kind eyes. No pity or judgment. She’s all warmth.
“Honestly, I think it’s the universe’s way of humbling me.Can’t have me being this damn attractiveandgood at everything.”
“You suck at fishing, too.” Big sass coming from a guy with a dab of guacamole on his cheek. “And that green shirt makes you look like an M&M.”
Now hold on—isn’t the green M&M a girl?
“Jonas.” Whit knocks him down a few pegs with that razor-sharp stare of hers, doing more damage than any response I could formulate. “Enough.”
He rolls his eyes with a huff before returning to dinner. Whit’s foot taps against mine under the table. And I spend the rest of my meal fighting back a smile.
Whit
“Don’t think you’re off the hook. We’re gonna have a talk about consequences for your behavior today.”
“Can’t wait,” Jonas replies sarcastically, trudging up the stairs with Betty at his side and slamming his bedroom door behind them.
Typically, I’d follow. Insist on duking it out right now. Then I’d fall apart on the floor of the laundry room and pick myself up just enough to collapse in bed.
But tonight, Colt’s here. Kicking off his boots as if he’s planning on staying awhile. Something about his unfailing presence allows my lungs to finally inflate to their full capacity. The long exhale when I sink onto the couch isglorious.
“How are you feeling?” Colt plops down on the cushion next to mine, sideways so his knee rests against my leg. The room’s lit only with the golden glow of dusk, and he’s so handsome it hurts.
