Page 20

Ten
Conner
2017
Thanks to Ryan, every time my phone letsoutso much as a buzz, I jump like someone is zapping me in the balls with a cattle prod.
I gave her your number. Hope you don’t mind.
Her.
Henley.
His sister.
I don’t mind. Or at least I didn’t when he called me twelve hours ago to tell me she was finally going to follow through with her threat to come back to Boston.
Twelve hours is a long fucking time to think and feel about shit, especially when your life is specifically designed to avoid things like feeling and thinking. I don’t like it. Right now, I don’t like her very much either.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I look up from the stack of pancakes I’m mutilating to find Tess staring at me over her plate. It’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and we’re at Benny’s. It’s packed as usual, but we were able to slide right in after running the gauntlet of Nora, the hostess. As usual, I let her smack me around a little and tell her she’s pretty. Just because our booth is always open, doesn’t mean we don’t have to work for it.
“What?” I say, dropping my gaze to my plate, so I don’t have to look at her.
“Don’t what me,” she says, stuffing a neatly cut wedge of pancake into her mouth. Everything else she eats, it’s a complete massacre. Not pancakes. Those she eats with a surgical precision that would be off-putting if she weren’t so damn adorably clueless about it. “You’ve been weird all damn day.”
“I’m not weird,” I say, strangely wounded by her observation. “Your face is weird.” I jab my fork into my food like I’m trying to kill it.
Tess leans back in her seat, laughing so hard I’m afraid she’s going to choke on her pancakes. “Oh, Jesus,” she gasps between loud, braying gaffs. “You’re especially ridiculous today.”
“I’m glad you’re amused.” Finally giving up on my food, I drop my fork and push my plate toward her.
“Amusement is what you bring to this relationship, Gilroy,” she says, nudging my plate back onto my side of the table. “Amusement and pancakes. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
Lifting my coffee, I slam the rest of it before standing. “If you must know, I’m expecting a call,” I say, reaching into my back pocket to pull out my wallet. I don’t tell her from who. I can’t. Not unless I want to launch into a re-hash of why waiting for a phone call from Henley O’Connell has me all fucked up.
“From your doctor?” Tess’s eyes go wide and sympathetic. “Is it herpes?”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, jerking a couple twenties free before tossing them on the table. “A tiny, tiny asshole.”
“And yet, you love me,” she says, totally unremorseful. She glances down at the money I threw on the table before bouncing a frown back up at me. “Are we leaving?”
“I’m leaving,” I tell her. “You can stay and eat as much as forty-dollars will buy you.”
Before I make my escape, she reaches out and snags my hand, forcing me to look down at her.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
This isn’t cocky asshole Tess. This is concerned friend Tess. The Tess not many people get to see.
“Yeah. Just tired,” I tell her, offering her the first real smile I’ve cracked all day. “I had to cover Cap’n’s shift at the bar last night and then...” I don’t finish my sentence. The rest is a given. No explanation needed.
“You don’t have to fuck everything on two legs that bats its eyelashes at you.” Tess lets me go and sits back in her seat. “You know that, right?”
“Well, if you’d just admit how much you want to jump on my cock, I wouldn’t have to,” I say, flashing her my dimples and she groans. The old lady sitting in the booth behind her looks at me like she just swallowed her dentures. Because I’m an asshole, I wink at her, and she nearly faints into her early bird special.
“I’d rather jump on a live grenade.” Tess laughs. Looks relieved. This is us. What we do. How we function. I’m a cocky, perverted asshole and she cuts me to shreds. Keeps me in line.