Page 66 of Rules, Roses, and Rivals
“Pizza’s pizza.”
“That’s not true. Some pizzas are cardboard lies.”
I glanced at him. “Are you trying to distract me?”
Coop gave me a look. “Yes. Am I failing?”
A pause.
“Yeah,” I admitted.
He sighed, leaned back in the chair. “She’s coming. You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“And you know she’s going to be with him.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
“I know you’re pissed,” he continued. “But the enemy isn’t Frenchy. Or Archie. It’s definitelynotFrankie.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Then who the hell is it?”
His gaze met mine, calm and steady. “At the moment? You.”
That hit harder than I expected. Not because he was wrong—but because it wastooright.
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
“Hey, I didn’t say it to be a dick. You’re just better than this. You’re not the guy who blows up and ghosts her and then acts surprised when she doesn’t crawl back.”
“Jesus,” I muttered, but it wasn’t angry. Not really.
“Look, you are the guy who blows up and decks people. But never her. That part—that has to stop.”
Asshole wasn’t wrong.
“Just…” He stood, crumpling up his paper towel. “Don’t make her pay for the stuff you never said.”
Then he walked off.
Which was good, because I needed to breathe.
I headed for the drinks table near the corner of the pool area, bypassing the bar. Too many damn people there. The drinks table was mostly abandoned—just a few stragglers hovering near the coolers and mixers. I dug through the ice for a can of Coke, more for something to do with my hands than anything else.
“Still like yours flat and warm?”
I stiffened.
Maria.
I didn’t have to look to know that voice. Sweet on the surface. Razor underneath.
“That was once.” I reminded her, and it was after we’d banged the fuck out of each other and I needed a drink.
She stepped up beside me, leaning one hip against the table. “Seems like I recall it being more than once. A lot more.”
Of course she did. That was the problem with Maria. She remembered every kiss, every fight, everything I said or didn’t.
