“I wouldn’t say we … made up.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I rest my elbow on my knee, my hand cupping my cheek, and I suck in a short breath. “I don’t know … I guess we just reached a mutual understanding?”
I refuse to tell him that mutual understanding involves screwing each other whilst maintaining the fact that we are not friends. Not buddies. Not pals. Not together in any capacity.
“All right, cool,” he says. “Just wanted to check on you.”
“How thoughtful of you,” I say, a smile in my voice. “But everything’s fine. You’ll be the first to know if it isn’t.”
He’s being summoned again, same girl’s voice as before, and I get ready to end the call.
“Goodnight, Nick,” I say as I scan the backyard for Murphy.
“Mel?” he asks.
“Yeah?”
“I, uh … I miss you.”
It takes a second for me to realize I’m not breathing, nor am I capable of forming a proper response. Nick has never, in the history of our friendship, said he missed me, and we’ve spent huge portions of our lives apart.
But now?
Now he misses me?
And he feels the need to tell me this why?
I don’t want to assume things. Apparently I’m the worst at that sort of thing. But I can’t deny the tiniest flutter in my chest.
A smile claims my lips. “I miss you too.”
“SO … TELL ME ABOUT yourself.” Kai is making a jackass of himself in front of Melrose as she drives a corkscrew into the top of her wine bottle.
“That’s the best you can do?” She laughs, not looking up.
“Huh?”
“That’s your pickup line?”
Kai hooks a hand around the back of his neck, rubbing it as he wears a nervous smile. I told him before. He’s got no game.
“Yeah, I’m kind of old-fashioned like that. I see a pretty girl and I immediately want to get to know her,” he says. “I like to cut to the chase.”
Her lips flatten and her eyebrows lift, and she nods. “All right. I can respect that.”
“So …” he says, hand gripped around the neck of his beer bottle as he holds it against his chest.
Melrose pours her wine, keeping her back to him. Clearly she’s not interested, but Kai’s posture is cemented. He’s not going anywhere anytime soon.
I have to intervene.
This is too painful to watch.
Plus, I’ll shit myself if she so much as considers giving Kai a chance. Love the guy, but no. Just no. Guy’s a serial monogamist. When he gets a girl, he tends to keep her around for years, and I don’t want to spend the next five years seeing Melrose on Kai’s arm at every barbecue and get together.
Don’t think I’d be able to look at her without thinking about all the things we did and all the things I still want to do to her even if I won’t allow myself to do them.
“Kai,” I say, giving him a look and nodding toward the living room. Melrose watches the two of us and takes a small sip of her red wine as she watches Kai trek into the next room.
“You don’t have to do that,” she says when he’s out of earshot.
“Do what?” I wrinkle my nose before turning to reach for another beer from the fridge.
“Fend off guys for me,” she says. “It’s weird.”
“How is it weird?” I unscrew the cap with a refreshing hiss and take a swig.
Melrose shrugs. “It’s strange to me that you can’t stand me, yet you don’t want me to go out with anyone else. It’s like … you don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me.”
“You’re only half right,” I say.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and takes her wine upstairs.
I head back to the living room, taking a seat across from Kai. A couple other guys from work are discussing the ostentatious penthouse apartment we wired this week. I’ll never get how people drool over that kind of lifestyle.
To me, the simpler the better.
I don’t need laundry dumbwaiters, fridges that open by voice command, or “smart” toilets.
“Dude, Sut, was that your roommate?” Christian asks.
I take a swig. “Yep.”
“No fucking way. You said you were living with some girl, but guess you forgot to mention she’s crazy fucking hot?” He eyes the stairs, as if he’s expecting her to come back down here. “She single?”
“I don’t know,” I lie. “Don’t know, don’t care.”
Kai shakes his head.
“What?” I shoot him a look.
“You like her,” he blasphemes in my house.
“Like hell I do,” I answer, taking an even bigger drink. I stare at the UFC weigh-ins happening on the TV screen in front of us, but I can sense the three of them staring in my direction like a damn peanut gallery.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I check the screen, I find a text from Tucker.
TUCKER: DAD’S DRUNK AGAIN. FIGHTING WITH RHONDA. I LOCKED MY BEDROOM DOOR AFTER HE PUT HIS FIST THROUGH THE WALL.