Payton: What I can’t see can’t hurt me.
Luke: What a bunch of knuckleheads.
After I catch up on the ridiculous bro chat, I switch to my conversation with Bree. She still hasn’t answered any of my texts today—she’s not engaging with me at all, which feels just like the last year of our friendship all over again.
Except this time, it’s my fault. I may have checked out of the thread with the fellas last night, but they were right. I should have thought things through instead of embarrassing Bree by confronting her like that. She has every right to be mad at me. But I still wish she’d answer me, tell me if she’s okay. And explain what happened so I know whether to book a flight to Texas so I can punch Chase’s lights out.
But she won’t be home until late because she’s meeting the other WAGs at the Turtle Tide tonight after work, which is happening now. Wish I could be a fly on the wall because I’m almost certain those ladies will know more than I do by the end of the evening.
When I hear a knock, I check the peephole to find Luke’s sour mug staring back.
I swing open the door. “What are you doing here?”
He brushes past me. “We have plans, remember?”
“I thought Sophie was joking.”
“Nope. I have official orders to keep you company tonight. We can call the others and make a thing out of it.”
“A thing?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, you know. Pizza. Beer. We never did get to order last night.”
The ludicrousness of the situation makes me feel itchy. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. Bree’s most likely pouring her heart out to Sophie, Mia, and Lily, which is great—I want her to have friends.
I just wish she’d talk to me.
Granted, now that I know Chase Langston, my long-time rival and all-around turd bag, was her mysterious boyfriend, and considering how I behaved when Luke dumped that detail in my lap, I can understand why she might feel more comfortable talking to them.
Even so, I’m her best friend. In the past, she’s shared every part of her life with me. Some I could have gone without knowing.
With a resigned sigh, I close the door, saying goodbye to my evening alone. “You’re all I can handle tonight.”
Pressing a hand to his chest, he smirks. “Should I be flattered?”
“Hell no,” I mumble and follow him to the couch.
He sits at one end, his arm stretched out toward me along the back of the sofa. I flop down on the other end, arms crossed, with a foot propped on the coffee table.
The silence in the place is deafening.
Luke clears his throat. “Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Good.” He leans forward and grabs the TV remote. “I think there’s a baseball game on tonight.”
I say nothing because all I can think about is Bree. “Am I difficult to talk to?”
He drops his head and puts the remote back on the table. “So, we’re talking, then?”
“No…yeah, I guess.” I sound like a whiny teenage boy, even to myself.
He doesn’t reply. I glance over to see what’s up, only to find him with his nose in his phone, fingers flying across the screen.
“What are you doing?”
“Texting Sophie.”
