Page 91 of Wild Card

It’s true—I don’t want to get hurt. But nothing would hurt more than missing my chance with Gwen.

“Tripp,” she says, finally moving her gaze back to him. “Thank you for your honesty. But these gifts are not necessary. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be when I tell you I’ve moved on.”

He scoffs, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “What? You’re dating someone else?”

“Not exactly.” Her eyes shift to me, then back to him. “Not yet.”

“But you want to?” Ire tinges his voice now, like her interest in anyone else is a personal slight to him.

“Tripp,” she says, calm but firm, “we were very casual for a very short time. We haven’t spoken in a year. So you have to forgive me for feeling like this newfound dedication is out of left field.”

“Yeah, well, when it’s right, you just know.” He tips his chin and crosses his arms. “Open the present. Tell me if this other guy can top that.”

She grimaces but reaches for the bag. From behind her Clyde mouths,I hate him.

My lips flatten to keep from mouthingSame. Because right now, I do too. For putting her on the spot like this and taking advantage of her kind nature, forcing her to open a gift that she’s been clear about not wanting.

And for making me watch it all go down.

Her fingers tear away the paper, revealing a square, black velvet box. She hesitates, glancing at each of us in turn. There’s a flicker of nerves in her eyes, and a part of me wants to swoop in and put a stop to this. The other part of me doesn’t want to overstep and blow everything up on her birthday.

When she clicks it open, her eyes bug out for a minute, and then they shutter.

“I can’t accept this, Tripp.”

When she holds the box out, I catch sight of a diamond tennis bracelet, the light in the house making it almost blinding to look at.

“Sure you can. It’s perfect for you.”

She closes the box and pushes it across the island as far as her arm will stretch. “Tripp, that’s not perfect for me. That right there is proof that you don’t know me at all. You telling me to keep my shoes on at your party is proof that you don’t know me at all. You thinking there could be anything between us at all now that I know your stories about your dad being a deadbeat are not true is proof that you don’t know me at all.”

Tripp freezes, all the color draining from his skin as his expression morphs before my eyes. He looks genuinely shaken, and alarm bells sound in my head. “Gwen, you don’t know?—”

She gives him her palm as she stands. “No, don’t tell me how to think, feel, or behave. It pisses me off.”

I can’t see Tripp’s expression, but based on his rigid shoulders, I’m going to guess it’s a blend of shocked and furious.

“Nice of you to do this in front of everyone.”

Gwen barks out a dry, disbelieving laugh as she steps away from him. “You’re the one who keeps showing up unannounced, putting me on the spot, and forcing the issue with other people around. Please, for both our sakes, just stop.”

“And you won’t even give me a fucking chance to?—”

“You know what?” I cut him off. “That’s enough. Tripp, take a walk. Cool off. Go put your feet in the sand or something. We have somewhere to be, and the clock is ticking.”

“We?” he asks incredulously.

I hold my shoulders tight, not backing down, not letting him make this awkward. Because I’m too pissed off to pat his backright now. “Yup. It’s her birthday. Pick a different day to do this. Or better yet, don’t. Want me to walk you out?”

Gwen turns to me now. Her wide eyes and slightly parted full lips suggest she can’t believe I just kicked him out of my house.

Tripp snatches up the flowers and the bracelet, spins on his heel, and stalks out of the room, muttering, “Un-fucking-believable. Both of you.”

His departure leaves a deafening silence in the kitchen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

GWEN