I’m so fucking selfish. Just like my mother always tells me I am.
It’s not until Tristen’s crouched in front of me, the ring in his nose glinting in the light, and a sad look in his eyes, that I finally blink. Register the scraping of chairs behind him that are being put away. Notice the scar jutting through his brow, interrupting the hair growth over his left eye.
“Em, bub, they’re clearing everyone out. We have to go.”
His hand hovers over my knee, the heat connecting between us like an invisible touch, and I focus on it. Feel its proximity. See the veins on the backs of his hands, raising the ink there like it’s just as alive as he is.
“I think it’s burrito time, man,” Hatley says beside me, his voice taking on just a smidge more of his usual character, but there’s still an edge. A rasp to the words as he knocks his shoulder into mine lightly.
Tristen shoots him a look and grumbles through gritted teeth about me. That I don’t like to be touched.
And he’s right. I don’t. Its never led to anything good.
It always hurts.
So why does my chest scream with the ache for the opposite?
“Let’s go grab some food, bub.”
Chapter 21
Tristen
The pounding in myhead rejects the bass to the song playing over the shitty diner speakers and as soon as the plate is placed in front of me, I two hand the filled tortilla.
Once the first bite hits my tongue, my stomach growls its frustration, and the realization that none of us has really eaten much in the last several days hits me.
The mouthful goes down like a rock as I tear off another and glance at Emmett.
My heart soars when I find him chewing, honey eyes lined with bags dancing between the ceramic in front of him to Hatley.
They both look fucking exhausted.
Weighted.
Pale and beaten down.
“Hey.”
Hat looks at me with brows lifted and Emmett peeks at me through his lashes.
Why do I like that?
“Let’s go to the track.”
My best friend’s sight darts to his right where Emmett sits then back to me with a growing grin.
“I’m so in.”
“But …” Emmett chews on his bottom lip, dragging my attention to the motion. “What am I gonna do?”
The corner of my lips tip.
“You can ride with me.”
Why do I like that idea even more?
His eyes go wide, and I’d swear there’s a hint of blush on his cheeks when he stares back down at his plate, but I don’t get time to appreciate it as much as I’d like when the waitress strolls up.
