Page 122 of Love Sick

“Never mind.” She sighs. “It was a stupid question.”

Itisa stupid question. Of course I love her. The real question is—

“Does she love you?” Alesha asks.

My attention cuts to her, taking in the solemn steadiness of her gaze. “I don’t know.”

The tiniest flicker of movement at Alesha’s mouth hints at a frown. “I think she does.”

Nervous energy has me grabbing a stick of gum, popping it in my mouth. The cinnamon does nothing to curtail the rising taste of acid in my mouth. “Why do you think that?”

Alesha stands and grips my shoulder. “I see the way she looks at you. The way she’s looked at you for the last year. That girl is in love with you, Juju. She’s just scared to tell you.”

“Nah.” I kiss her on the cheek and adopt a mocking tone. “She’s just letting me down easy.”

She rolls her eyes as she walks away. “Whatever.”

Halfway home, a text interrupts the music through my Bluetooth: “Message from Grace. I’m not feeling well tonight, J. Why don’t you hang out with your boys?”

I call her at once.

“Hey, sweetie,” she sings into the phone.

I smile. “You don’t sound sick. You trying to play hooky from me?”

She laughs. “Alesha changed out my IUD earlier. My uterus is in revolt. I’m heading straight to my heating pad and aBridgertonmarathon.”

Ah. Reason number four million why I’m glad I’m a man.

“Poor Sapphire. I’m sorry.”

“Eh. Worth it for no periods or Santini babies.”

Santini babies? My chest constricts as an entire potential future with her spreads out in a split second. I subdue it by sheer force of will.

I am way too deep in this.

My hollow laugh echoes in the speaker. “Leave your door unlocked and I’ll come say bye before I leave. Tuck you in.”

“All right. Bye, sweetie.”

* * *

“Santini!” a chorus calls when I enter Asher’s backyard that night.

The firepit’s already well underway, and most of the men have drinks in hand. I toast my beer as I join them, taking a seat next to Maxwell.

He nudges my arm. “Thought you were busy, bruh.”

“Changed my mind.”

“Good.” Maxwell smiles. “It’s good to get away once in a while.”

It’s notgetting away, like she’s some sort of prison I’ll have to return to once visiting hours are over. She practically kicked me out to do this. I’d rather be with her. But as I settle into the familiar atmosphere, a sense of comradeship I’ve forgotten steals over me. Why don’t I ever come to these things anymore?

A conversation to my right draws my attention. Third-years Liam Heaney and Greg Kelly argue over which of the women in the program they’d bang, and in which order. Ranked—of course—by the size of their tits.

Oh yeah. This is why.

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