I suck in a deep breath, centering myself before I make my way over there. I haven’t had a ton of time to dive into the feelings I’ve had about them breaking into my office. Frankly speaking, I fucking loved that part.
It’s the moments after that kill me. The judgment on Ethan’s face when he thought I couldn’t be faithful to just them. It mirrored that of my PR manager whenever she would have to put out tabloid fires that came out as rumors, or questionable rumors.
Again, my past behavior might not be the cleanest, but the fact that no one really knows the entire truth is something I’ve always had going for me.
I just hate it now that I’m trying to be serious with someone, or someones in my case.
Fortunately, I haven’t needed my PR manager much but if anything gets out about me and my fellow students at Polytech,well that’s going to be a logistical nightmare for her. I know I shouldn’t pursue anything, but I’ve never been able to stop myself when there’s something I want.
It’s embedded in my DNA. I want it. I do it. Act now, questions later.
Some people say it’s my worst quality. I sort of think it’s my best.
I shrug to myself as I push my body off the barstool and walk toward them.
Stepping in between them, I plaster a smile on my face as I wrap one arm around each of them and peer over their shoulders at the field.
“Did we win?” I ask, even though the first pitch hasn’t even been thrown yet.
Ethan looks over his shoulder at me, the lopsided grin tells me he’s happy I’m here. “Do you even know anything about baseball?” he asks, giving me shit.
“I prefer extreme sports but baseball is okay.”
“Ah yes. The Dane Campbell motto of life. The more risk, the more reward,” Seamus replies in his best Mr. Miyagi interpretation, not looking at either one of us.
“Wait. Did you just say a joke? I mean it wasn’t like a full joke, like half a joke, maybe. But it was still snarky as hell even though it’s 100 percent accurate,” I reply, still surprised and slightly jealous of the way Ethan has brought out a bit of fun in Seamus.
I pat Seamus on the shoulder as he glares at me, then move around on the other side of Ethan, so now he’s standing between us.
“You like taking risks,” Ethan states, factually, not questioningly.
“They’re usually worth it.”
His neck swivels over to me, as if he needs to see my face to determine his response.
“What if it fails?”
“You keep trying.”
“What if someone gets hurt?” he asks.
I’m a smart guy and I most often have a witty comeback resting on my tongue. But right now, as we’re talking metaphors of the relationship that’s blooming between me, him, and Hannah, I want nothing more than to prove how great this could be for all of us.
“I met my best friend in Kindergarten. She was this awkward little thing with the brightest blonde hair I’d ever seen. She brought me a dandelion and told me to make a wish.”
“A dandelion?” Ethan asks, his attention fully on me but his eyes flicker to where my tattoo sits on my back.
I can’t seem to answer with words so I just give him a tight-lipped smile and nod. His facial expression shifts into something deeper when the realization hits him that I’ve only ever tattooed myself with things that mean something to me. Things that mean a great deal to me.
“Yeah, my wish was her. I was immediately obsessed and went out of my way everyday to get her attention in any way I could. She was the coolest five year old on the block and I wanted nothing more than to be her friend. We became best friends and spent every single day together. I was in love with her all through elementary school. And I know what you’re thinking. We were kids. But I knew she was the one, even way back then, I just knew. In seventh grade, after years of hiding how I felt, I finally told her—risking everything—and she kissed me. It was the most rewarding moment of my life but I regret not saying something sooner,” I peer over at him, “If I would have told her sooner I would have had more time, more kisses, more touches before the cancer took her from me.”
I can tell by the look in his eye that Hannah didn’t tell him about Celeste. I love that about her, knowing she would nevertell someone else’s story. I suppose she of all people knew I would tell him eventually.
“How long were you together?” he asks.
“All through middle and high school until our freshman year in college.” I muster a close-lipped smile at him, trying to provide comfort to him, myself too, as I look down sliding my hands in my pockets. “Even through all of it, still my only regret is not telling her sooner so I could have more memories of what we had.”
“Sir.” The waiter steps up next to me with a tray of three espresso martinis.
