Page 60 of Best Served Cold

“Why do you care?”

A gust of air escapes him, like a laugh that didn’t quite come into being. “You don’t need a reason to care about someone. You of all people should know that.”

It hurts, and I can’t help but wonder if he meant it to. But he’s wrong. I had plenty of reasons to care about Jonah. They were just the wrong reasons. I don’t want Rob to care about me for the wrong reasons.

He waits for me to stand, and when I don’t get up, he asks, “You need me to pick you up again?”

Yes.

“No,” I say abruptly, standing so quickly I probably look like a jack-in-the-box.

He laughs softly to himself as we walk back to the high-top table, where Hannah is arm-wrestling Travis. She loses, obviously, but he seems impressed by the effort she put in.

“How’d it go?” Briar whispers to me as I slip onto my chair. Her hand encircles the crystal at her neck.

“I honestly don’t know,” I answer.

“Touch your crystal,” she says in an undertone, but not enough of an undertone, because Hannah says, “Yes, stroke itreallywell. Dottie’s convinced the one she gave Jonah can improve his personality, and if a crystal can do that, I’m sure they can do anything.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ROB

Conversation with Travis

You’ve got it bad for Pollyanna.

She orchestrated this whole thing so she could help with Emil.

How does it help you with Emil if your caseworker thinks you’re banging your brother’s fiancée?

You mean dating my brother’s ex, fuck you very much, and it’ll help because it’s an explanation for why he’d go scorched-earth and have his friends call in a bunch of BS complaints about me.

I dunno. Sounds like a mess.

Probably. We don’t all have alphabetized spice cabinets.

I’m not even confident you own salt and pepper.

I’m totally not changing the subject. But let’s talk about the way you were arm wrestling with the fiery redhead…

Let’s not stereotype.

Uh-huh. You have a thing for women who can sing.

I love peace more.

That woman doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

By the way, I’m not purposefully changing the subject either, but one of my friends called to ask if we wanted to play some ’80s covers at the Orange Peel in a couple of weeks.

They’re having a dance party.

It’s on your biiiiiirthday. What do you say, bud? Dance it up?

Are you serious with this?

Don’t kill the messenger.

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