Page 55 of Never Really Over

Me:Tell me something I don’t know. Are you working with a realtor yet?

Dalton:No realtor yet. Bridget has her heart on this one property but it’s not on the market so we’re still waiting. Mom and Dad have plenty of room, so I guess we’re staying here until we find something. All our stuff is going into their extra garage. Living with the parents. That’ll teach me for making a rash decision.

Me:Preaching to the choir, my friend.

Dalton:At least we can all be losers together! We’ll talk more when we get there.

I toss my phone on the nightstand and flop onto the bed.

Losers.

That’s definitely how I feel right now. Hungover in my childhood bedroom pouting because the man who I still love hates me.

I sit up straight in the bed, the thought coming out of nowhere.

I still love him.

Well. Isn’t that just perfect.

Chapter Ten

Layla

The Difference

Sometimes all ittakes is a good friend to remind you what you’re worth. Never in a million years did I expect it to be Dalton, but hey, stranger things have happened. I think.

I hear a car pull up so I finish what I’m working on, shut down the computer — you know, since I’ve managed a whole two hours of work today — and go out to greet Bridget and Dalton.

When I walk into the kitchen, Dalton spreads his arms wide for me. “Well, well, well. She emerged from the seedy underbelly of tequila!”

Bridget swats his chest. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice. Now come here, give your rescuer a hug.”

“There’s so much wrong with you,” I grumble.

“Aww. Now is that any way to treat the guy who brought you nourishment?”

I cross my arms across my chest and cock my head to the side. “Depends. What’d you bring?”

He grins. “Sushi.”

I gag. Normally I wouldn’t but eating sushi hungover sounds like I may as well camp out in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“Kidding. He’s kidding! We wouldn’t do that to you,” Bridget says. “It’s just pizza. Nothing fancy. I did grab some pop, too, and I made brownies.”

“You’re my hero, not him,” I coo, smiling up at Bridget. There is nothing better than a greasy pizza with some brownies for dessert. And I know that pop isn’t good for you, but it’s delicious and I can’t help but want it every single day.

“Already replaced. All because of pizza.”

“And brownies,” my mom adds. “You had us both at brownies.”

It takes us no time at all to grab some plates and cups, and dig in. Dalton pours Mom a glass of Diet Pepsi and the both of us a glass of regular while Bridget drinks a glass of milk.

“Milk?”

“It’s for the baby,” he mumbles around a slice of pizza. “I’m actually surprised she’s eating pizza right now. She eats ridiculously healthy.”

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