Page 53 of Wild Card

“No.” Ford shrugs. “Sad.”

Fucking Ford. Direct to a fault sometimes. “Thanks, I’m really fine, though,” I reply grimly.

Fine.

“So you’re saying that itisGwen who pissed in your cereal, but you’re fine with it?” West asks while stroking at his chin like he’s some sort of old-school philosopher.

Rhys rolls in with his deep, authoritative voice. “You know, as someone who grew up without a dad, I don’t think this would bother me.”

“You mean if your dad came around and started dating Tabitha, you’d be cool with that?”

Rhys turns a fierce glare on West. “Fuck no. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

West laughs, holding his hands up in an amuseddon’t shootgesture.

“I just mean,” Rhys continues, “if my dad showed up and dated a casual ex of mine that he met before I did? I don’t know. I’d have no relationship with the guy, so I doubt I’d care. It would be like any random dude dating an ex of mine. Unless I was hung up on her.”

I know he’s trying to be comforting, but it doesn’t work. Instead, it just stresses me out to think my already tenuous relationship with Tripp isn’t salvageable.

“But what if your dad wanted to have a relationship with you?” I blurt, hoping the big broody man before me has a magical answer.

Rhys shrugs before shooting me an apologetic glance. “I don’t know. Our situations aren’t the same. But I’d probably have some shit I needed to work through before I could do that. And him dating my ex would be the least of the grudges I’d be holding against him.”

I swallow and glance away, trying not to spiral. Because it feels like I’m damned if I do pursue Gwen and damned if I don’t.

But beneath my layers of anxiety, he’s planted a seed, one that gets me thinking. What if Tripp wouldn’t care? He doesn’t seem to care all that much about me anyway. It begs the question: am I holding myself back for no good reason?

All three of them are staring at me like they expect me to respond, but I’m done talking about this. “Somebody take yourturn before Stretch throws a full-blown temper tantrum,” I bark, effectively ending the conversation. I cross my arms, shuttering my emotions.

I’m not sure when a fucking bowling team turned into heart-to-heart chats and relationship advice with these guys, but it catches me off guard. I simmer and stew over my opening up for the rest of the night.

And against my better judgment, I order a much-needed rum and Coke. Just to take the edge off.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GWEN

Gwen: Hihi. Got your number from Tabby. Just checking in. I’m headed back. How was Clyde when you left for bowling?

Bash: Sometimes I regret giving him my kidney.

In the darkened back seat of our cab, I smile down at my illuminated screen because I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s just being surly. Going out for dinner with Tabitha, Rosie, and Skylar was fun, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about Clyde while I was out. Checking in feels good. The fact that Bash wrote back feels good too. So I text again.

Gwen: No you don’t.

Bash: His new lease on life is a lot more gross than I anticipated. He shares too much. Did you know there are dating apps for people who want to prepare for zombie apocalypses? Because he told me all about them.

Gwen: I think it’s sweet. He’ll need someone like-minded to pass the time in that bunker.

Bash: I don’t want to be in his bunker then.

Gwen: You can come get eaten by a zombie with me.

Bash: What?

Gwen: In all those zombie movies and shows, I will never understand those people’s obsession with staying alive. For what? Living in a zombie world where everything sucks and all is lost? No, sir. Not for me. Peace out, bitches. It’s been a slice. On to the next.

Bash: Zombies aren’t real.