Page 49 of This

Friday. You and me and not a damn soul I have to share you with. Just us.

No constriction in my chest or feelings of being trapped.

Can’t wait,I reply.But I’m picking the music.

My last morning at theapartment feels nothing like goodbye. Since Steve has found a steady buyer for his work, they’ve decided not to rent out the room again, and Aria promises, as long as they live there, it’s mine. In fact, they both insist I’ll be back to the point that I start to believe them. So much so, I leave the painting behind, wanting it to be waiting if I do.

Little Stevie plants himself on my lap after breakfast, biting whenever I try to move. His stonewalling ends the second he hears his food dish. He bounds off, as disinterested in me as ever. Before I leave, I boop him on the nose one last time, smiling when he swipes at me.

Aria hugs me at the curb—Steve, too—with a kiss on the cheek. When we pull away, he scoops her up and tips her backward, her rainbow hair brushing the cement and him appearing more in love than yesterday. I snap a picture, already missing them. Then I turn and take one of Dane. The first I’ve taken of him, but by the time we leave California, I have a roll of him. Of us.

Because I own no winter clothes—the closest I come is a lightweight jacket and a few sweatshirts—Dane and I wind up in a department store at one in the morning when the temperature dips. As I turn for the dressing room with an armful of long-sleeved shirts and sweater dresses, he tosses skimpy lingerie on top. I give him a look, and he shrugs.

“I need something to think about when I’m stuck behind a desk. It might as well be stripping that off you with my teeth.”

“Such a romantic,” I say dryly.

“Only with you, baby.” He slaps my ass as I pass.

The slats in the door show him leaning next to it after I close it.

I’ve tried on most of the pile when he asks, “What are you doing for Keaton’s bachelorette party?”

I peel off a rejected knit top. “We’re taking a dance class she’s always wanted to try.”

Close enough to the truth. Technically, I booked a strip class at a local club to surprise her, but I prefer not to dangle the exotic-dance carrot in front of him.

“What about you? Any crazy plans for Liam?”

“Just a little karaoke. About as exciting as a dance class.”

I stifle a laugh with a wool sweater. “Is most of the guest list his friends from the frat?”

“Yes,” Dane groans the response. “A night full of L-Dogs and Master-bater jokes.”

Liam’s friends are nothing if not stereotypical, dragging him down to near caveman status when they get together.

“My best friend from the engagement party is also on the list.”

“Ford?” I go rigid, arm half in a sleeve and half out. “You’re inviting Keaton’s cousins?”

“Only a few of them. Mustang and Buick and—”

“Bentley?” I cringe at how the name sounds out of my mouth, wrapped in history with familiarity dripping from each syllable. And yet, I say it again. “Is Bentley invited?”

Worse the second time. A gritty feeling left behind.

I have yet to bring him up, in general or the specific stunt he pulled at Christmas. My reasoning has been Dane and I see each other for such short periods. I hate losing any of it to a game of trade the exes. In all honesty, I don’t want to learn about Dane’s. I’ll stumble into the trap of comparisons like a newborn fawn.

When he doesn’t answer right away, I pull on the shirt I came in with. He’s looking at his phone when I step out, his head resting against the wall. He rolls it toward me as a less than enthusiastic lady on the loudspeaker tells Kelly to go on break.

“No Bentleys,” he says once she finishes. “The only vehicles Liam texted are Ford, Lincoln, and Chevy.”

My insides unclench. I should have known his cousin wouldn’t put him through an awkward night out with my ex.

“Is there a reason you look so relieved?” he asks, straightening up.

Dane has this look, a slight narrowing of the eyes, brows raised infinitesimally. I’ve only seen it directed toward me whenever he wants more than what I’m giving him. Right now, it hones in, asking for the missing pieces.

---