We take turns going around the table to place our order. We’ve been here enough to know what is good and what gives us the shits. Hollister leans back. Arms go up along the top of the booth, eyes surveying us with a happy smile.
“Man, it’s good to be here. I’ve missed this.”
He states what I assume all of us feel. His hand roughs up Dom’s hair, which earns him a scowl and a shove away, sending him into me. For a split second, I forgot about Sofia lying in my bed, curls spilling everywhere, and her dog, snoring next to her face. Forget about how my heart is racing in a panic at losing that. Trying not to freak out while I’m with my boys and drive that clown bike to her house and demand she talk this out.
Space.
I’ve never hated a simple word so damn much. My brain tracks them all automatically. The familiar rhythms. Diego’s knuckles tap the table in a syncopated beat. Holli’s leg bounces under the table. Dom’s thumb flicks across the screen. Em’s constant fidgeting, fingers playing with the salt shaker, the sugar packets, anything he can.
I sit here. Hands flat on the table. Glass of water sweating under my palm. Thinking of her. Replaying every word she said, which wasn’t that much.
“So,” Holli says, eyes flicking from me to Em and back. “How’s recovery? How’s therapy?
“More like how’s it going being a crash dummy,” Dom mutters, staring at his phone. I remind myself that he cares, just has a hard time showing it.
“I’m my physical therapist’s favorite patient.” Em puffs his chest in pride, not offended at all when he probably should be. “Just ask Ryan, he fucking loves me.”
“Because you shut up and do your exercises?” Diego asks, one brow up. “Or . . .”
“Because I’m a beast. I knock that shit out. Like it’s fucking easy.” Em looks at me for confirmation, and I shake my head, ready to rat him out.
“They play video games all day. Watch the Red Sox sometimes and?—”
“Hey, I do work out. He makes me because he wants to see my muscles flex and shit. I think he’s got a hard on for me.”
I shake my head again. “He’s not gay. He has a girlfriend.”
Em huffs and shoves the pepper shaker away, which slides across the table into Dom’s phone. His eyes lift to glare at his brother. I expect him to pick it up and launch it at his head, but Diego intervenes and calmly moves it back to the center of the table.
“He’s on the down low. I know it! Says my glutes are impressive,” Em adds, shimmying his shoulders. “You can bounce a quarter off this ass.”
Dom groans. “Shut the fuck up. No one, and I mean no one, wants to hear about your ass.”
“This ass prevented me from more damage, tell them, brother.”
They all look at me, and I roll my eyes. Laughter erupts. It washes over me, warm and familiar. And very much needed. Almost enough to drown out the ache.
Dom’s gaze flicks up. Lands on me. Stays there a little too long.
“You look like shit, Mas,” he says as blunt as usual. “What’s up with you?”
Em cackles. “He’s in love, but she left yesterday.”
“Shut up, Em,” I tell him automatically, but my heart’s banging harder now. Dom’s not the type to ask unless he really wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about small talk.
Diego’s head tilts. Holli stops fussing with the sugar packets. Em actually goes quiet.
Four sets of eyes on me.
I grimace. “What?”
“With that nurse?” Holli mutters, nudging my shoulder with his. Just a small bump. A grounding one.
“What happened?” Diego asks, voice softer than usual. If anyone knows pain and disappointment, it’s him. Back all busted. Career over. Starting new with chemistry and his woman.
The words are right there. She asked for space. I dropped her off. I checked her apartment.
I left her there alone, and it felt wrong in my bones. I got mad at Em last night. Didn’t sleep a fucking wink. Worried and wanted her. Couldn’t jerk off to the memories of her in my bed, even though her scent was still on the sheets.
