Page 86 of Make You Love Me
“What did you do?” Q asks, raising Wes’s bet two chips.
“Asked her to go on the date.” I flip three chips onto the pile.
“You’re a dumbass.” Wes shakes his head as he matches my bet.
“Agreed,” Pete says, folding.
“Thanks a lot. You don’t know everything, and this is how I make sure she’s all in on our fake relationship before we make it real.”
“You have to know how stupid that is. What if they have a connection? What if she fucks him, too?”
Well, that stung. “She won’t.”
“You said he’s a doctor.” Wes holds up a hand and starts ticking off all of Superman’s appealing qualities. None of which I can meet. “Looks like a famous actor who plays one of the most beloved superheroes, has a limitless bank account, and volunteers his spare time to help injured veterans?”
“He also has a British accent,” I add stupidly, living up to their opinion of me.
“You’re right. He’s got nothing on you,” Pete chimes in, his sarcastic tone telling me precisely what he thinks of my decisions.
“You all can kiss my ass. And since you’re obviously Team Kent, I will have no qualms taking your money tonight.” I fan my cards out on the table, and revel in the groans of my less-than-supportive friends. “Royal flush.”
Q and Wes toss their cards onto the table, and they slide across the chip pile I plan to rub in their faces.
“You’re going to need it to compete with dates at Marcello’s,” Q jokes, dealing another hand. “That place is impossible to get into unless you’re a local celebrity or rich as hell.”
“Superman is both,” Wes says before draining his beer.
“I hate every one of you.”
Chapter 23
Nora
Thirty minutes after I enter my apartment and change, the doorbell rings. Dropping my brush onto the counter, I jog to the door to see which neighbor needs something tonight.
Swinging it open, I tilt my head in mock disapproval at Sydney and her three-year-old son, William.
“I thought I might see you tonight.” I welcome them inside, hug Sydney on her way by, then pick up William to give him a squeeze.
He lets out a loud squeal-laugh when I lift his sweatshirt and deliver noisy kisses to his belly, his deep red curls falling into his eyes as he wiggles. He’s one of those kids with infinite energy and sweetness. It’s impossiblenotto adore him.
“You can’t be all weird on the phone and not expect me to come check on you,” Sydney says, leading us to the living room couch. “Love the dress.”
“Thanks.” William’s energy gets the better of him, and he squirms to get down. Once he’s running about the apartment, I smooth the front of my black, white, and teal-striped, knee-length sweater dress before sitting. “I’ve had it for years, but it’s too nice to wear to work or out at our usual places.”
I glance over at William, examining the fake plant in the corner, to avoid Sydney’s inquisitory eyes. Knowing her, she’s shuffling through dozens of questions my recent behavior has invoked to select one that won’t make me bolt. But she knows me too and my evading tactics. When I called her on the way home, any and all topics that involved or could lead to Jordan were sufficiently skirted. At the time, I needed my friend to take my mind off the chaos and distract me from losing my composure in the quiet car. I hadn’t fully thought through the consequences before dialing her number.
“Where are you going all dressed up?” she settles on cautiously.
And that one weighted question is all it took to bring back the trepidation and confusion I felt leaving Jordan’s earlier.
While I find the words to explain, William rushes over to us, looks up at me with his big, dark eyes, and hands me his plastic toy soldier—the one he goes nowhere without.
“He only shares that when he thinks someone’s upset,” Sydney explains.
“Well, aren’t you perceptive?” I say, cupping his chubby, freckled cheeks in my hand and planting a kiss to his nose. “And the sweetest.”
“I wasn’t joking. You did sound off earlier. What’s going on?”
