Page 37 of The Boyfriend Gamble

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. I mean, my parents wouldn’t care. Neither would Kade nor Tanner. But his family…”

I wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to rock the boat. I was working on the assumption that Nita’s heritage was an issue. She was white, like me. Some families didn’t want interracial marriages. To me, that was all kinds of wrong. It also wasn’t incumbent on me to change the world. I could do my part, though, by teaching my children tolerance and love. I grasped Nita’s hand. “I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

“It might not last, anyway.”

Yet I heard the catch in her voice. She cleared it. “We’re here to talk about you.”

“And the wedding? I’m hoping you’ll attend. Ben and Isaac have already said yes.”

“Felix?”

I nodded.

“Do you realize you never talk about Josette?”

I stifled my knee-jerk argument and took a moment to let her words sink in. I replayed all the times I’d spoken to her over the last few months. School, the house, my car, the state of the education system in Canada, and British Columbia in particular, universal healthcare and — “Huh.”

“Right. I mean, she’s the woman you’re going to marry. And I’m not saying that you’re not entitled to keep your life private. Like I have,” she added quickly.

“But I…” I almost saidlove, but I knew that would be a lie. “I care for Josie deeply. We’re meant to get married.

“Do you love her, Felix?”

I scrunched my nose. “What’s love, anyway? My mom loved my dad, and he died. We make the best with what we have.”

“Does she love you?”

“Uh…” I closed my eyes, replaying the past few encounters with Josie. Hell, the past twenty-five years. When we were kids, she used to hug me and tell me that she loved me. That’d stopped when we hit grade five or so. I couldn’t remember why, but I was certain there must’ve been an excellent reason. “Well, I assume so.”

“You know what they say about assumptions.”

“Well, sure. If you want to get all authoritative on me.”

She snickered. “Felix, you’re a great guy.”

I eyed her. “Yeah?”

“But sometimes you don’t see what’s in front of you.”

“Is it safe to assume you’re going to elaborate?”

“Only that you spend more time checking out Isaac’s ass than you do looking at my breasts.”

I choked on my lemonade. After sputtering a bit, I wiped my hand across my mouth and then swiped it across my khaki pants. A little too warm for the weather, but we were meeting fairly early. I’d change later. And, why she’d suggested meeting this early, when we didn’t have to get up for school, was something I probably should have questioned. I blinked back the tears. “I don’t look at any woman’s breasts—”

“That’s my point.”

“Because it would be rude. Good Lord, Nita, my mother taught me to respect women.”

“Do you even know the size of Josette’s breasts?”

“I cannot believe you just asked me that. I don’t know sizes—”

“Large, medium, or small?”

A strangled sound escaped my throat.

“Well, mine are medium.”

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