Page 28 of Barefoot Dreams
I can feel my inner balloon of hope deflating.
If she’s dating him—himof all people—it must be real. There must be love and feelings and all those things that were never meant for me.
“Please, don’t.” Jacob shoots a look my way.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give up.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, slumping back in my seat.
“I’m not. There’s nothing to give up.” Because you can’t give up what you never had in the first place.
“So you don’t like her?” Alec asks.
“That’s not what I said.”
“So you’re a quitter then,” Jacob throws out, and I send a glare his way.
“It’s not—”
“Ham or eggs?” he cuts me off before I can finish my thought.
“What?”
“Are you ham or eggs?”
I lean in, taking a peek into his glass. “Are you sure it’s beer in there?” I ask but Jacob slaps my hand away.
“Answer my question. Are you ham or eggs?”
“I don’t have a fucking clue what that means!”
“Haven’t you seenGrey’s Anatomy?”
I give him a blank stare. “Does it look like I have?”
“Oh dude, you’re missing out. Of course, they got half the things twisted and messed up and it’s more about sex than actual medicine but the show’s—”
“Jackie?” Alec cuts in. “You’re getting off-course buddy. Concentrate.”
“Right.” Jacob instantly straightens up and I throw a glare at Alec. Did he have to remind him? “You see; you have to decide if you’re ham or eggs. Committed or involved. Chickens are just involved in the process, because they simply lay the eggs and repeat the process the next day. But pigs are committed! Theydiefor their cause. They lay it all on the line.”
“Mate…”
“Ham or eggs, Griffin?” he asks sternly. “Are you ready to die or just lay an egg? Are you ready to watch her live happily with someone else or come in and sweep her off her feet?”
“Jacob, it’s not that—”
“Ham or eggs? Itisthat simple. Ham or eggs?”
“Jesus…” I rub the palm of my hand over my face.
“Be just a friend or her person? Ham or eggs? Watch her raise those cute, chubby babies with her green eyes or have them call you dad? Ham or eggs? Stay by her side or on the sidelines? Ham or eggs? Ham or eggs? Ham or eggs?”
The chanting grows louder, the images he planted in my head running like a wild slideshow. Blonde babies with her green eyes. Owen holding her hand as they watch them. Owen there for her. Owen by her side. Owen kissing her, holding her, planting lavender with her.
“HAM! Jesus Christ! Fucking ham! It’salwaysbeen ham!”
