Page 108 of Someone to Have

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The paint roller drops out of my hand, bounces off my shoe, and lands on the ancient shag carpet.

“Fuck, man,” I mutter. “That came out of left field.”

I grab the roller and turn to place it in the tray before picking up one of the rags nearby to wipe at the toe of my work boot. Mainly, I want to keep myself occupied so I can fix my face before I look at Toby.

I feel the weight of his stare, as if I’m the one on stage in the glare of the spotlight.

“No shit,” he answers, “since I told you to stay away from her.”

“It’s not what you think.”

No, it’s way more.

“If you’re going to try and tell me you and Tink are just fuck buddies, we’re going to have to decide whether I kick your ass before or after we eat lunch.”

I glance up finally. I hate those words with a passion, and they sure as hell don’t apply to Taylor and me. They make it seem like she was just a warm body in my bed instead of the woman who’s carved a space in my chest I can’t imagine filling.

“I’m not going to tell you anything, but I probably deserve the ass-kicking.”

“I’m starving. Let’s eat first,” Toby says like we’re discussing the weather, then walks into the kitchen.

The previous owner left behind a scuffed oak table, along with a few other pieces of furniture. My sister told me not to get rid of anything because she likes refurbishing stuff to make it look new again.

Toby takes the food out of the bag while I wash my hands at the sink, then splash cold water on my face. I grip the edge of the counter, trying to pull myself together.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” I tell him.

He cocks a brow. “Which part? Fucking her or?—”

“Stop talking about her like she doesn’t mean anything or you’re going to be the one getting the ass-kicking.”

“So it’s serious?” He takes a seat at the table, one brow arched like he’s already put the pieces together. “This is a surprise from the?—”

“If you call me a manwhore again, we can skip lunch and move right to the throwing hands portion of this visit.”

He flashes a grin. “Food first,” he repeats. “These bad boys are better warm.” He places a wrapped sandwich and a bag of chips on the table as I slide into the chair across from him. “Between bites, maybe you can explain why you booked a ticket back to Germany when you’re obsessed with my sister.”

“I’m trying to be fucking respectful. We had an arrangement.” No strings, but she wound herself around my heart anyway. I can’t explain it without sounding like a damn cliché in one of those Hallmark movies she made me watch. I’m sure as hell not going to mention that I liked them. “But your sister is too smart to see a future with me. She likes that twat English teacher.”

Toby pauses with the sandwich halfway to his mouth and shakes his head. “The fuck she does.”

I don’t want to say it, but the truth is eating me alive. “I saw them kissing backstage after opening night.”

Toby narrows his eyes. “Was he kissing her, or was she kissing him?”

“Dude, I don’t know,” I answer, but a part of me does. I’ve kissed Tinkerbell often enough to know the soft, lit-from-within look she gets on her face and the way her body goes all melty. She didn’t look like she was melting with Limpdick.

“All I know,” Toby says around a mouthful of meatball, “is that at Dad’s last Sunday, she looked about as sad as a kid who just dropped their popsicle on the sidewalk on the hottest damn day of the summer.”

I don’t like the thought of Tinkerbell being sad. Not one bit.

“You’ve been just about as much of a sad sack this whole week.” Toby points a chip at me. “Even the guys on the team noticed.”

I scrub a hand over my jaw. I can’t remember the last time I shaved. “I thought I was putting on a game face.”

“Your game face is shit, but don’t worry. I told them you had hemorrhoids.” My friend flashes a diabolical grin. “I also had to explain hemorrhoids to a couple of the young ones, but once they understood, there was a lot of sympathy for you.”

I flip him the bird. “Is that why your dad told me to pick up an inflatable donut from the office?”