I rubbed my temples because what the fuck was I going to do with him.
“Are you going to be home for dinner?” Cyrus asked him.
“Yeah,” Fallon said. “What are you making?”
“Eggplant parm.”
“Fuck yeah,” Fallon chirped. “My favorite.”
I chuckled. “I swear the two of you are like an old married couple.”
“No,” Cyrus said flatly. “We are not.”
“I’ll see you at home, honey,” Fallon said, blowing Cyrus a kiss as he walked past him.
“I don’t know how you can still live with him after all this time,” I said, shaking my head.
After we graduated from college, I moved in with Jade, and Cyrus and Fallon got an apartment together. All these years later, and they were still roommates.
“If he didn’t live with me, he’d live with you, so consider it a favor.”
I pressed my hand to my chest. “I’m forever in your debt.”
Cyrus’s wide blue eyes searched my face. “Are you going to be all right going to the wedding alone?” he asked.
Damn it, he was good. He could see right through me.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” I said, forcing myself to sound confident. “I just hope my suit still fits.” There was no way I could attend a wedding in joggers and a hoodie.
Cyrus tapped two tentacles against the doorframe, obviously contemplating something. “You know, you’ve been spending a lot of time here since the breakup.”
“Well, between Chai being sick, getting all the tax paperwork together—”
“Those sound like excuses,” he said, cutting me off.
“What else am I going to do?”
“All the things you’ve missed out on over the last fourteen years,” he suggested.
Fourteen years.I’d wasted my twenties on someone who saw me only for what I could give her. She wanted the perfect house. The perfect boyfriend. The perfect husband. And I didn’t get shit in return.
“I think it’s a little too late for that,” I said.
I was never getting that time back.
Before he could press me any further, I asked, “How’s painting going?”
Cy was going through something of his own. He was an acclaimed artist, but lately he’d been spending more time staring at his canvas rather than painting. While I wasn’t one to pry, I was genuinely concerned about my friend.
“You cheeky bastard,” he said, flashing me a sharp-toothed grin. “Don’t change the subject.”
“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
“If you’re worried about my art output, you could always come over and model for me. I could paint a nude portrait for you to hang in the office,” he teased.
I barked a laugh. “No, thanks.”
“It would be tasteful,” he scoffed, sending the both of us into a fit of laughter.
