“Why would I be upset? I’m asking you to do this saintly service.”
“Uh-huh.” He settles on his side, tucking an arm under hispillow. “Have you forgotten I grew up with two sisters? You’ll either forget this convo or don’t really mean it.”
“Right now, I mean it.” With a groan, I frown up at the ceiling. “No one should eat that much meat.”
His grin flashes in the moonlight. “You sure were cute snarfing down those ribs, though.”
“The soda March brought me helped.”
“Good.”
He says it quietly, and I look over at him. He appears relaxed but a little withdrawn. Again, I find myself wondering over what March told me. I don’t want to ask, and yet...
“Pickle, when you came into the den, March—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he cuts in. “And you don’t have to worry.”
I don’t think he has a clue what I was going to say. But I find my courage failing. He sees me frowning and winces.
“All right. I confess. I’ve had a few... instances in which I’ve been jealous of you and March.”
He says it formally, as though dragged from the depths of him, but he doesn’t blink or look away from me. Shock prickles my skin. I think about the scene he walked in on.
“You know you don’t have to be, right?”
His expression goes soft. “I do. You’re mine and I’m yours. I don’t doubt that at all.”
I rest my head in the crook of his arm.
“It wasn’t logical,” he admits. “And I hated feeling that about March. He’s my best friend and brother. So I let it go. When I saw you two just now, I was happy. I realized how close you two are. I like knowing he’ll be there for you when I can’t.”
Smiling, I take his hand and set it over my belly. It’s a comforting weight, and he flashes me a quick grin at the action, but doesn’t move away.
“But why were you in the first place?” I ask him. “Is it that stupid crush rumor?”
“You mean the fact—not rumor—that you had a crush on him in high school, yes, that’s part of it. But more so that your mom and my family seem to be shocked we’re together and assumed you’d fall for him.”
“Ugh. First of all. That ‘crush’ lasted a few days at most. And it’s only because he danced with me that one cookout we had, when no one else would, and I thought it was—”
“Do not say sweet. That’s my word.”
Oh,nowhe wants to claimsweet? I fight a grin.
“—kind of him,” I offer instead. “Second, March has never, ever made me weak at the knees.”
“And I do.” It’s cute the way his eyes light up and his mouth dimples with a grin.
“Pickle, you only have to be you—all pretty-like—and I’m flustered.”
He stares at me for a moment as though he’s thinking things through, almost absently rubbing my belly. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever to hear you say that.”
Has he? God, was March telling me the truth? He must have been. They’re so close; March would know. I don’t doubt him, and yet, I still struggle to believe it.Allthese years? It can’t be true. My heart leaps about in my chest like a startled rabbit at the idea.
“I’m surprised you’re letting me hold you this way.” At his quiet comment, I snap out of my musing and gently touch the hair hanging over his brow.
“What?”
His gaze roams over my face. “You’re letting me rub this cute little belly you have going. Most girls hate having a guy touch them there.”
