Changing the subject, I announce, “I think we should have a dinner party. You know, to christen the new place.”
“Ooh, what a great idea.” Quinn says excitedly. “We could invite the rugby guys and the Beedle Babes.”
Quinn gets quiet suddenly.
“What?”
Turning to face me, I glance at her then back to the road. In that split second, I can tell she feels bad about something. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help unpack.”
I shake my head and pat her leg with my right hand. “No worries, your stuff still needs to be unpacked.” I snort. “As for the rest of it, Luke…” No. Not going there.
“Luke what? You can’t leave me hangin’, girl.”
“Nothing.” I press down on the accelerator so we can get home faster.
“Spill, biatch.”
I laugh from surprise. “He stopped by a couple of times. He helped me unpack some things one of those times.” The second night. He even came with a box cutter to speed up the process.
“Didn’t you help him paint his room or something?”
“Yeah. That’s true. He was just returning the favor.”
“Well, we’ll have to invite him to our little dinner party.”
No.“I’ll see if he can get away from work.” I’m lying. I’m not asking him. No way.
“Cool. I’ll tell the girls on our next walk.” She pulls her phone out of her purse. “I need to check my messages.”
I hear her say, “Aw,” and from that alone, I know it’s from Cooke. “He misses me.”
“I bet he does.”
And then it hits me. Quinn could leave. She could move to England and leave me behind.
Thinking of life without her makes me feel sick to my stomach. But I won’t let it ruin our reunion or her happiness. She deserves it.
* * *
Quinn must’ve invitedLuke to our dinner party because I sure as hell didn’t. Honest to God, I’m shocked he showed up. What’s his deal? He’s been here for almost an hour and he hasn’t said boo to me. It’s weird because no matter where I go in my place, there he is. No worries. Dinner is almost ready, so as soon as that’s done, he’ll go back to work. It can’t happen soon enough, because just having him here is making my heart hurt.
Doing my best to shutter my emotions, I focus on the pasta. Quinn and I decided to make spaghetti for our guests, mainly because it’s cheap and it’s easy to doctor up the sauce so it doesn’t taste like crappy stuff from the can. As I taste test the bubbling red sauce, I feel someone at my back. I know who it is before a word comes out of the jerk’s mouth. I know because one, I can smell him, and two, I just do.
“We need to talk.” His voice is low, almost a whisper.
I don’t bother with being quiet. “No. We really don’t.”
“Yeah we do.”
“No, we don’t.” I’m getting angry, and now I can’t move back because he’s so stupidly close. Gah! This guy.
“I just need a minute of your time, babe.”
I suck in air and close my eyes. Well, they’re pinched shut, actually, because “babe”? Really? With gritted teeth, I’m able to say, “Stop calling me babe.”You frigging jerk.
“Give me five minutes, Tayler.”
I get the sense he wanted to finish that sentence with something like “you owe me,” but he didn’t. A good thing too.
