Page 104 of Flare

Jack waved me off. “Fine. I texted you at midnight when Monica’s parents came to get us.”

“I know. But ‘it was good and we’re heading back now’does not a suitable summary of your first dance make.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t my first dance.”

“No, but it was mine, with you.”

The eye-roll was epic, but a pleased smile played around his lips. “Fine then, interrogate me.”

“Excellent.” I leaned forward. “Did they like what you wore?”

A smile cut across his face. “It was sick. Everyone loved it. Monica said I looked like Joel Courtney.”

I frowned. “Who?”

“Really?” Jack stared in disbelief and patted my knee. “I tell you what, old man, if you behave and eat all your veges for dinner, we’ll use that new-fangled thing called the internet and I’ll show you a picture.”

I shoved his stool with my foot and his arms windmilled as he almost fell off.

“Hey, that’s child abuse right there.” He righted himself at the last minute.

“So, sue me. Does this mean you and Monica are athingnow?”

“Athing?” His cheeks pinked and he busied himself on his phone. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

I threw my hands up. “What the hell does maybe mean? You are or you aren’t. Does nobody talk these days?”

“We do just fine, thank you very much. We’re not as hung up on labels like you guys were. Now stop lying about Rhys. He told me he’d be here when I got home so I could tell him how it went. Did you guys have a fight?”

“Why would you ask that?” It was an admittedly weak stall.

“Because look at you.” He swept a hand over me. “Pissing around looking sad as fuck—”

“Language.”

He ignored me. “—mooching on the couch, watching some crap movie, and having a conversation with your sixteen-year-old nephew who doesn’t want to talk to you, when you could be cosying up with Rhys instead.” He tapped a finger to his chin and pulled a questioning face. “Mmm. What doesn’t seem right here?”

“Shut up. And okay, yes. We had a... disagreement,” I grumbled, returning to the television.

He kicked my foot. “Adisagreement? If Rhys isn’t here then you had a fight, Uncle Beck, not a pissy disagreement. You should go see him and say sorry.”

I sprayed a mouthful of coffee down my front, quickly put my cup on the side table and hauled the damp jumper over my head. “Why do you think I’m the one who should say sorry? Arguments are a two-way thing.” I threw the jumper in a pile on the floor.

Jack shrugged. “Does it matter? Someone has to go first. And he’s the—” He made air quotes. “—best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

My brows dipped. “How did you—”

“I heard you and Rafe talking when he was here last week. That’s what you said, right? You obviously like each other.”

And maybe a lot more.I stared at him because he was right. Why was I sulking and watching some stupid movie when I should be talking to the guy who meant more to me than I ever imagined he would?Because he won’t answer your freaking texts and you’re too proud to turn up at his door in case he won’t see you either.

I sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

He shrugged. “Okay. I mean, you’d know better than me, right? I’m just the kid.” He smirked and headed for the kitchen. “Did you go to the supermarket yesterday?”

I scowled, watching his back. Punk-arse kid. “There’s fresh bread and stuff in the fridge. Why don’t you make yourself an omelette?”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that once I finish the French toast and bacon. One cannot live on healthy food alone.”

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