“Sorry,” I say. “That was shitty of me.”
Is it always going to be this weird between us? Will we ever get back to the way it was?
“It’s okay.”
“Where is Annie tonight?”
“Working.”
“Is this how it is now? We can only hang out when she doesn’t know about it?”
“No. It isn’t like that.”
“I know she doesn’t like me.”
“She’s not exactly a Freckles fan.” He bumps my shoulder. “But she doesn’t get to dictate who I spend time with.”
“Well, not yet, anyway.” I swallow hard and skip ahead, “So beer and pizza, are you buying?”
“Yeah, Freckles. I’m buying.”
“Damn straight you are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lo
One month later
Twenty-eight
“I’m so ollllld,” I complain into my bottle of whiskey as I stumble out of Townhouse Venice, a vintage speakeasy on Winward, and head for the beach. We’d been drinking all day, and I was well and truly white-girl wasted.
Gabe grins. “Oh, come on now, twenty-eight is not old.”
“It’s too old for this shit,” I mumble as I unhook my corset and my ribs, breasts, and flat stomach practically burst free.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Gabe says. “We’re not in the comfort of your living room yet, Lo.”
“Then give me your goddamn shirt.” He hastily removes his sweater and then his undershirt and throws the last over my head. It’s black and sleeveless and emblazoned with, “The Clash”. It’s miles too big. The armholes show off all of my side boob and I look like a frump. I frown. “Why are boy’s clothes so big?”
“’Cause we’re so much bigger than you, sprout.” Gabe gathers the excess material at the hem and ties it into a knot, so it sits comfortably at my midriff. He gives me an indulgent smile, as if he thinks I’m cute.I’m not cute. I’m a fucking ballbuster.Hell yeah, I am.
“Sprout?” I point at his chest and stumble, spilling my whiskey over his sweater.
“Ah! Jesus, that’s cold.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, wiping the liquor away with the palm of my hand. Despite the cool evening, Gabe is warm. His hard chest and chiseled stomach feel good under my palm, and it isn’t longbefore I’m stroking him from his well-defined tattooed pecs to the waistband of his jeans. “So pretty.”
Gabe chuckles and blows out a breath as he pulls me flush against his side. “Keep doing that, Freckles, and this party’s about to get really out of hand.”
“No parties.”
“No parties,” he agrees.
“And no fridge crawl. I’m too old for that shit.”
“Just you and me.”