Cooper picks up a scoopful, still eyeing me.
“She’s fucking amazing,” I mutter.
“Duh. Waverly doesn’t make friends with people who aren’t.”
I eye the baseball player.
He grins, clearly not at all ashamed of his own ego lingering in that statement.I’m awesome too because Waverly hangs out with me.
But then he goes serious. “You like her.”
“I liked her before I ever met her. We started texting when she moved into my pool house.”
Cooper snorts.
Helpful. “What?”
“You’re welcome.”
I stop shoveling and stare at him. “You’re welcome?”
“Dude. Do you know how many times Waverly’s like, ‘Oh, Aspen’s texting with Cash again’? Likeevery day. You think the rest of us don’t know?”
Not just staring anymore. Now, I’m gaping.
He levels me with anotherbe fucking for reallook. “Why do you think we invited her to Beck’s party?”
“Quit telling him all of our secrets, dumbass,” Davis says.
“You knew,” I say to Cooper.
“You’re not exactly subtle, my dude.”
I look back at the cabin.
Is Waverly having the same conversation with Aspen?
“More shoveling,” Davis says.
We both put our heads down over our shovels and get back to work.
My friends knew.
All of them knew I had a crush on Aspen.
No wonder Waverly didn’t blink when I said I needed to get Aspen some stuff she left behind at Beck’s house.
Did she know Aspen liked me too?
Having Davis and Cooper here makes the past two days feel like a dream. Not like reality.
But could it be reality?
Were they actually playing wingmen, and I didn’t know it?
Fuck.
This is why I’ve kept shit casual since my short-lived wedding to a fan fifteen years ago. Because I read things wrong.
