Page 62 of Yours Truly

He smirks. “Sure. Try that.” He steps one foot onto the sidewalk. “Get over yourself. That’s my best advice.”

Then he takes his five thousand bags of food, his gallon of syrup and his coffee and goes to meet his pregnant wife.

And I find myself jealous of the cowboy boot-wearing, buckle-loving, hay-baling guy. And I’m inclined to take his advice.

“Can I bring you a sandwich?” Lucy asks, giving me that half-tilted head, droopy smile that your mother gives you when she feels bad you got dumped again.

I smooth my hands through my hair. “I just had breakfast.”

There’s that sad smile again. “Honey, that was three hours ago.”

I look at my phone and see it’s nearing noon. Holy shit, she’s right. I’m not hungry, but the urge to have a sip of whiskey to calm my nerves strikes. “I’ll take a sandwich. Something with bacon. And french fries, too.”

Lucy nods. “You want me to get something for Ivy, too?”

I hate that Lucy knows her favorite meal and I don’t, but I’ve never asked. I’ve been the guy who answers questions, who soaks in a woman’s focus and attention. But I have never reciprocated, and I dislike myself greatly for it.

“What’s she like?” I ask quietly, twisting an empty straw wrapper around my finger. “For lunch, I mean.”

She shrugs. “Her favorite is the chicken club. She likes sweet potato fries and coleslaw. But there isn’t a single dish in this diner she won’t eat.”

I nod. “Okay then, I’ll get her favorite.”

“To go?”

I twist on the barstool and look through the glass, across the street, toward Ink Time. Deuce said I could go back about now, but something about rectifying what happened where it happened feels logical to me. “Here, maybe. Let me ask her.”

Lucy smiles. “Good start.”

I don’t know if she’s talking about lunch or relationships, but either way.

Meet me for lunch across the street?

I hover over the send button, considering just walking across the street. But I want to talk to Ivy and I don’t necessarily need an intimate audience.

I hit send and within a moment, she’s responding.

I don’t have an appetite.

C’mon, Firecracker. You gotta eat and I gotta talk.

Fine.

Got your crispy chicken sandwich with sweet potato fries waiting for you.

Thanks, Lucy.

She told me but now I know.

Gonna put that knowledge to use?

You wait and see. And get your ass over here.

A moment later, there’s a swish of black hair and tights as Ivy pushes through the diner doors, greeting Lucy and two of the line cooks with a broad grin. And when her eyes find me in the semi-crowded diner, my chest aches.

My locked cock aches, too.

I lift an arm, waving her to me, and in return? She rolls her eyes.

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