Page 141 of Never Let You Go

“How about your other apprentice?”

“What about her.”

“Are you making her an offer?”

“She doesn’t want to be a baker.”

“I wasn’t talking about a job offer.”

I shoot him an angry glare.

“Told you to stay away from her,” he says.

Did not. Told me the exact opposite.

“Should have told you,” he says, reading my mind. “But then, I didn’t know you were such a pussy.”

I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about, and I don’t care. I take a long draw on the cold IPA.

“I want you to want me.”

I do want her. Way more than she can imagine. I spend my nights with her, sleeping or making love to her. I spend my days with her, working or just… doing life shit. And yet I can’t get enough of her. I want more of her.

But how much does she want me to want her?

And what did she even mean by that? What she said stuck with me, but maybe I’m reading too much into it. She said it after I’d been to dinner at Emma’s, and maybe it was just jealousy. It was also right in the middle of fucking awesome make up sex we were having, so maybe that’s how she meant it.

“Talk to me, bro.”

I huff. Talking is not something Justin and I do.

“C’mon. Spit it out.”

“You talk about your shit, Tinman?”

“What shit?

“Right,” I say. Been years since Justin’s had a girlfriend. Oh, he sees plenty of action, except he goes away for that. Never talks about whatever girl he’s had that time. Mentions the pussy, occasionally. “Right,” I say again, drawing out the word.

“Come on, I wanna hear it.”

“How come you haven’t had a girl since high school?”

“I’m talking about you.” He wipes the counter, like he’s prepping to lay something on it.

“I’m not.”

He grunts. “Course not.” He grabs a mop and sweeps the entrance to the pub. With the snow almost entirely melted, the ground sloshing and sticking to boots, there are shoe tracks everywhere. It’s a full-time job to keep any place clean during mud season.

I follow him, beer in hand, and look at Skye on The Green, talking to Moose. “The baking show is coming up. Couple of months now,” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Might need a driver.”

He pauses.

“Someone to drive me back.” The show lasts three days, and there’s little to no sleeping involved.

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