Grateful for the interruption, I turn around and find Mae walking toward me with Nico beside her, her gaze shifting from Matthew to me and back.
“Can you take me home?” I ask instead of answering her question.
“What’s wrong with your car?”
“Her tires are slashed!” Matthew announces loudly, lifting his hands in the air and then letting them fall by his sides.
Mae’s eyes grow wide. “What?—”
“Can you take me home, please?” I clip, not in the mood to discuss this.
Mae’s expression turns grim, but she nods. “Yeah, I— Sure.”
“Thank you.” Nodding, I press my lips together. Without a backward glance, I go to my best friend. She slides her arm around my waist, and together we walk away.
“You okay?” she whispers, rubbing her hand over my arm.
I shake my head silently.
Everything was going so well.
So how did we get here?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MATTHEW
“Look who came to visit us.” I roll my eyes at my sister’s smug face. She dramatically presses her hand to her chest. “To what do we owe this pleasure, officer?”
“Will you cut it out?” I grumble, sliding onto the high-top chair that’s by the counter.
“And where is the fun in that?”
“Becky…”
My sister pouts. “Fine. Why so grouchy? I thought you’d be happier considering the charity event went so well. Everybody’s still talking about it.” Becky rolls her eyes. “I swear, they act like the dog belongs to the town.”
“It does. Kind of.”
“Don’t tell them that, because the next thing you know, they’ll try to have him on a rotating custody schedule.” She watches me for a moment before tipping her chin, her face suddenly serious. “But that’s not what’s bugging you. What’s really going on?”
I run my hand over my face as I think through my next words carefully.
“Did you and Jessy have a fight?”
“What?” I let my hand drop and narrow my eyes at her. “Is that what people are saying?”
Becky looks at me suspiciously. “No, I’ve heard about one very steamy kiss over at The Hut, though. But did you?”
“I…Shit.Kind of? She drives me crazy.”
Just thinking about how she walked away makes my fingers clench, and my gut churns with unease. There is something about this whole situation that doesn’t seem right, but I can’t quite pinpoint what.
“There is no ‘kind of,’ Matthew. Either you fought or you didn’t.”
“It was more of a disagreement.”
“So, a fight?”
