Page 144 of Crushing Clover

“It’s okay,” Saint said somewhat snidely, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “If you like that sort of thing.”

“Who wouldn’t like this? If you ask nicely, I might even let you borrow it sometime.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“I would ask why you’re being a dick, but you and I both know why.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

Rush stopped short of saying more, but a silent conversation was happening between the two of them, yet again. They did that a lot.

“Okay, Sigmund Freud.”

“You know it’s true. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Admit what?” Lucky demanded, looking as perplexed as I felt.

How could gifting Rush a shitty homemade sweater make Saint so pissy?

“Oh my god, man. Use your words. Your little mantrums were cute when we were teenagers, but you need to actually tell people things if you want your life to be good.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He took Saint by the shoulders and turned him so his chair swiveled toward me. “What Saint wants to say is that the sweater is very cool, and he wants you to make him one.”

That could not be what was happening.

“Are you…making fun of me?” I asked, confused.

Saint was looking at the corner of the room, avoiding my gaze.

“No. He wants one, and he’s jealous you made me one first.”

“Oh.”

Saint scoffed. “See? No matter what I do, everyone likes you more.”

“If people like me more it’s because I don’t go out of my way to be a gigantic jackass ninety percent of the time.”

Lucky almost choked on his drink. “To be fair, ninety percent feels like a lowball number—if you’re looking for feedback.”

The two of them exchanged crooked grins before Rush turned his attention back to Saint. “If you use your polite asking words, maybe she’ll give you what you want.”

“If she doesn’t want us to give her back to Warren, you’d think she’d be working those little fingers off trying to keep us happy.”

“Jesus, Saint. Try to read her expression once in a while? She doesn’t do cute little things for you because on top of treating herlike shit, you scare the living fuck out of her. If you want people to like you, you need to be nice to them,” Rush said in a patient, daycare-adjacent tone.

Saint twitched his shoulders, shaking off Rush’s hands. “It is a nice sweater,” he conceded.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, not sure what to make of the mumbled complement. I didn’t trust that it wasn’t going to come back to bite me in the ass later. He didn’t go so far as to ask me to make him one, and I didn’t offer.

Rush came to me and kissed my forehead, then thanked me again before handing me my refilled glass and settling back on the couch.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Rush?”

“Why would he bother getting us drunk when he can have us anytime he pleases?” Lucky hoisted his glass as though toasting me.

He had a point.

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