Page 88 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“Flynn might have mentioned something,” he continued, putting his phone away. “About Vegas.”
I literally felt the blood drain from my face.
“Flynn's dead,” I muttered.
“He's worried about his brother. Apparently Gryff's been miserable for weeks.” Tyson leaned against the car. “Did you know he texted me fifteen times? Asking about my intentions, whether I'm good enough for you, sending me a list of your favorite things.”
“He did?”
“Including a note about your weird popcorn preferences and that you hate when people pick the middle seats at movies.” He grinned. “Then he showed up to sabotage our date anyway.”
“With Jules and her fake mustache.”
“Which was definitely her idea. She texted me during the movie that it was part of something called 'Operation Make My Brother Stop Being an Idiot.'” He shook his head. “Your whole friend group is... intense.”
“They're conspiring.”
“Because you two are too stubborn to admit what everyone else can see.” He touched my arm gently. “Look, I genuinely think you're amazing. In another universe where you weren't completely gone for Gryff, I'd absolutely want to date you for real. But Artie, you watched him more than the movie.”
“They were distracting.”
“You wore that dress for him, not me.”
Crap. “I?—“
“Even the goats know it. Vincent tried to eat my shoelaces specifically to keep me away from you.”
“Vincent eats everyone's shoelaces.”
“While making direct eye contact? That goat has an agenda.” He opened the car door for me and we started the drive home. “Talk to him. Or don't, and Flynn will probably orchestrate something even more ridiculous.”
The drive home was too short to figure out what I was going to say. My head was spinning with Tyson's words, with the memory of Gryff's face in the theater, with the ghost of Vegas still on my skin.
I found Gryff exactly where I expected, on the couch with both goats now, pretending to watch TV, snuggled up with the goats again.
“How was your date?” he asked, not looking at me.
“You were there, so you tell me.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Gryff. Jules had a fake mustache.”
“That doesn't sound like Jules.”
“It was coming unstuck. During the romantic scene, she tried to stick it back on and got it stuck to her cheek.”
He cracked then, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That did happen.”
I collapsed onto the couch next to him, exhausted from pretending everything was fine. “It was all wrong.”
“What was?” His voice was carefully neutral, but I felt him tense beside me.
“The date. The movie. Everything.” Without thinking, I curled into his side, my body naturally finding its place against his. “His hand felt wrong. He got the wrong snacks. He sat in the wrong seats.”
Gryff's arm came around me automatically, pulling me closer. “Wrong how?”
Wrong because he wasn't you.
