“I know where he sleeps.”
Cody’s face melted slowly into a chuckle. “Well, I’ll be. You’ve been in love with the Prom Queen since you were a Freshman—”
“Eighth grade,” I corrected.
“Eighth grade, sorry, and Luke can keep a secret. Wait till I tell Morgan. She’ll faint.”
“Please don’t tell Morgan. Don’t tell anyone. Nothing good can come of it at this point.”
“Why’s that? Because of Conrad?” Cody hissed and waved dismissively. “She’s not serious about him.”
A rebellious spark kicked in my chest, and I looked up. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I’ve seen them together. No chemistry whatsoever. Morgan and I figured it would last three months at best. The only thing we weren’t sure of was who would break up first. My money’s on her.”
“Well, you’re wrong there. He proposed on Valentine’s Day.”
Cody blinked, and his face grayed. He swept a hand over his mouth and lowered himself to a stool. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
Cody kicked the rug with his toe. “So, this is why you’ve been so gloomy. I’m sorry, Dusty. Really.”
I leaned forward and folded my hands. “It’s my fault. I never asked when I had the chance.” My head hung, and I sucked in a long breath, trying not to shudder. “More than anything, I want her to be happy. I just… hoped it wouldn’t be with him.”
“I bet.” Cody slumped and crossed his arms. “You think it’s too late to say something to her?”
I snorted. “What do you think?”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right.” He shook his head. “Are you sure you don’t want me to say something to Morgan? Maybe she could put a word in. I can’t imagine Jess could be happy with Austen in the long run.”
“Just let it go, Cody.” I grabbed my blanket and stretched out on the couch. “Nothing more to do but live with it.”
Jess
I feared for a minute that Luke wasn’t going to answer his phone, just like Dusty hadn’t been. On the fourth ring, however, he picked up. “Hello?”
“Hi, Luke, it’s Jess.” I flexed my fingers to rid them of the nervous ache and prayed that the most unpredictable Walker brother would cooperate and help me out.
“Yeah, I know. Says so on the caller ID.”
“Right. So, I was wondering—”
“I can’t get away for the game.”
I squinted. “What game?”
“Taco Tuesday at the pub. Sports, peanuts on the floor. Remember, we said we’d catch another one sometime.”
“Luke,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Football’s over for the season.”
He was silent for a few seconds. “Hockey. I was talking about hockey.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I like hockey.”
I thought about challenging him to tell me who his favorite team was, but with Luke involved in the equation, that would kick off a downward conversational spiral that would get me nowhere. “Fine,” I agreed, rolling my eyes. “You like hockey. That’s not why I was calling.”