Page 58 of You, Again

“For now. Yes.” He kept his eyes on his screen as he typed. “What’s with the rock, Vin?”

“You like rocks.” I shrugged awkwardly as I studied his profile, stoically resisting the urge to lean in and sniff him.

“I liked them when I was a kid.”

“What do you like now?” I picked up my fork and speared a cherry tomato.

He eyed me warily. “I like bagels.”

“Plain cream cheese or flavored?”

“Plain cream cheese.”

“So you’re not Satan. That’s good to know,” I snarked.

Nolan chuckled. “I do like hot-mustard Doritos, though.”

“Never mind. You are Satan,” I deadpanned. “You still like chick flicks?”

He kicked my ankle under the counter. “I never liked chick flicks.”

“Pretty Womanring any bells?”

“Shut up. Everyone likes that movie.”

“Not me. I don’t like Cinderella stories. They’re so…predictable. Boy meets girl, falls in love, snore, snooze, snore, boy loses girl, snore, snooze, boy wins girl back. Continue snooze.” I bit the inside of my cheek when he busted up laughing. “GimmeLord of the Ringsany day.”

“Viggo Mortensen. Yes, please,” he said in a campy tone I’d never heard from him…ever.

It threw me off guard. It was kind of…gay. He was gay and I was sitting next to him, tingling all over ’cause I was wildly attracted to him, and that was gay. And all this gayness felt like a superhero power I’d finally worked up the nerve to use.

I fixed my gaze on his mouth. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Nolan furrowed his brow and glanced over his shoulder. “Your voice carries, Vin. You’re going to scandalize the natives.”

“I don’t think I care. Come home with me,” I purred.

He trailed his fingers along the inside of my knee. “I can’t. I’m covering for Stella, but I’ll see you at practice.”

Fair enough.

* * *

Where the fuck is Elmwood?I’m going to personally come there to pull your fishing rod out of your hands and shove it up your ass if you don’t call me back. Now.

I stared at the message for a beat, weighing the threat. Yeah, she might do that.

So, I scrolled Sienna’s number and pushed Send.

“When did you get so violent?” I asked in greeting.

She snorted indignantly. “When you stopped returning my phone calls. What’s your deal? All that fresh air must have gone to your head and I’m happy for you, but…I also need you in Miami. Can you be here on the twenty-sixth?”

“The twenty-sixth,” I repeated, rubbing my stubbled jaw.

I was busy that day…maybe. I couldn’t remember why, though. I squinted at the sunlight reflected off the window of the corner coffee shop, tilting my chin politely to a woman pushing a baby carriage. I was pretty sure I’d pulled her pigtails in kindergarten and—

“Vinnie?”