Page 100 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

I’d question how he knows he’s talking about my Sophie, but what are the chances it’s a different one? “What did he say?” My blood is already boiling at the possibilities.

He keeps his glare on JT as he talks to me in a hushed tone. “Something about her being a little slut. How long she’d been a tease, but he finally managed to get her wrapped around his . . . let’s just say he didn’t say finger.” He cringes at the implication.

My mind whirls questioning the timeline. Is he referring to the past or did something happen between Sophie and JT after I picked her up from his house? Regardless, I can’t let him fuck up her reputation that way. I take a breath, running through my options in my head, trying to stay calm.

JT doesn’t give a fuck who hears him as he says, “Sophie is like a puppy, coming whenever I call." He chuckles. “Or every time I fuck her. Those young ones are good for the ego.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “What did you just say?” I shove his shoulder until he twists to face me.

“I’m pretty sure I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I don’t give a fuck who you’re talking to. Keep her name out of your mouth.”

He smirks. “That’s not the only part of her I’ve had in my mouth.”

“If you don’t punch him, I will.” Ethan's hands flex into fists at his side.

“I got it.” JT is too drunk to register my words before my fist flies into his cheek with a crack. He curses as he stumbles back, abandoning his pool cue that falls to the floor to steady himself against the edge of the table. Fuck that hurt. I shake my hand.

He makes himself upright to swing at me. I lean backward, avoiding contact easily with his slowed reaction time from all the beer. I probably shouldn’t take advantage. In my split second hesitation, Ethan steps between us, shoving JT against the wall. The crash of his body against the wood vibrates the paintings above him. Ethan smashes him near his eye. His ring must have cut him because bright red blood dripping down his cheek comes into view as Ethan moves out of the way, like he knows it’s my turn.

I take a step, the smell of sour beer mixing with iron in the air, and without wasting another second, my fist slams into JT’s jaw, blood spewing from his lip. That one didn’t even hurt. Adrenaline courses through me, already ready for the next hit.

JT’s hands fly in front of his face to protect himself, his friends not coming to his defense. A crowd has formed a circle around us, though. I should probably get the hell out of here, but I’m not finished.

“Don’t ever fucking talk about her like that again,” I demand.

JT coughs, his hand reaching for the edge of the pool table for support. “Who the fuck are you?” He laughs maniacally, spitting blood from his cracked lip onto the carpet. “You’re more than welcome to my leftovers. Just remember to thank me for making her nice and loose for you.” The wicked glimmer in his eyes forces me to punch him in the gut.

He curls over with a groan as Ethan’s hands land on my shoulders and pull me back. “Okay, man. It’s time to go,” he says hurriedly right as Jess appears in the room.

Chapter sixty-two

SOPHIE

NOW

It took less convincing than my mom and I expected to get my dad to agree to me going to Costa Rica on my own, but I have a feeling she didn’t tell him my reasons. Four days after Cooper left me standing in Marcus’ kitchen, I was on a flight to Central America. It’s been a week since I arrived in Costa Rica, and my return flight isn’t for another six days. I expected the change in scenery to help, but I can’t shake the unsettledness I feel about my life.

Dean’s studio beach hut isn’t big. When you walk in there’s a small kitchenette and brown wooden table straight ahead, a floor-to-ceiling window to the right, with a perfect view of the ocean. To the left is a double bed with a dresser doubling as a nightstand next to it. The air mattress Dean has been sleeping on leans against the wall connected to the small bathroom. It’s a tight fit for the two of us, but it’s easy to stay out of each other’s way. My brother works during the day so I have the whole place to myself. When he’s home he gives me space too. I know he's there if I need him. The problem is, I don’t know what I need, and I think he can sense that. He hasn’t asked me why I’m here or pushed me to talk. He makes us dinner and we just hang out on the beach, chatting about books or other things without personal emotional attachment. The old spark my brother used to have seems to have faded a bit. It’s the opposite of what I would have expected based on what Mom said about him coming to terms with his decisions and own breakup, but for some reason, I think my being here is helping to liven him up. I hope we can open up to each other before I leave.

Scribbling my pen on the blueprint draft paper as I sit at the table leaves nothing but an imprint. And now a scratch on the paint as I throw it across the room and it hits the wall hard before falling to the worn wood floor. Maybe I should be enjoying it more, but I’m too stressed. I constantly let my mind wander to what Cooper is doing and how much I miss him, but I still have no inclination of what needs to change for us to make our relationship work.

Needing a new pen to work on the sketch in my architecture book, I pull on Dean’s top dresser drawer handle–it’s the only storage in his tiny place. Clothes. I shut it, repeating the process with the two below it and finding the same. The bottom drawer sticks a little. I yank on it so hard it comes off the track, and I stumble to the floor next to it. Not clothes. Curiosity gets the best of me as I shuffle through the contents now in disarray. It appears to be more like a junk drawer than anything. There’s a phone charger. A tub of surfboard wax. A pen. Yes! I pull it from under Dean’s passport, the movement sliding his travel ID to the side. Wait. What’s this? Replacing the pen in my hand with a photograph printed onto paper, I pull the dark image closer. The view out my bedroom at Marcus’ flashes through my mind, noting this picture was taken in his backyard down by the bonfire pit.

Looking again, I make out Marcus on the left of the picture. He’s talking to a girl in the middle of the photo. Dean doesn’t seem to be engaged in the conversation, but his arm is around the girl’s waist. That must be Maci? I think that’s her name. The photo was taken from the other side of the fire, the flame lighting streaks between the shadows over their faces. Even with the terrible quality, I can tell he’s looking at her in a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone—like he’s in love with her. I wonder if that’s how Cooper looks at me. Looked, I guess. I’m not convinced he still feels the same.

I gently put the photo back as if it’s a prized possession that needs to be handled with care. Something tells me it’s important to my brother.

There’s not much else in the drawer besides the Guide to Central America book. As I pick up the drawer and lock it back in its tracks, the book shifts, the corner of a sheet of lined notebook paper under the book catches my eye. I pull it from its place, immediately recognizing my brother’s handwriting in black ink covering the entire page. I shouldn’t be nosy. I should put it back and respect his privacy, but how can I not read it?

Maci,

The first time I was going to tell you was the morning you found my Guide to Central America book on the kitchen counter. I couldn’t bring myself to do it because we had just had sex for the first time. It was so much different than it’s ever been for me–with anyone. I needed to test the theory because I thought it had to be a fluke. It wasn’t. I noticed you running your fingers across the cover later that day before I took you home. I almost said something then too, but I didn’t want you to think it was my way to get rid of you, that that night had meant anything less to me than what it did.

My first instinct is to stop reading, to be grossed out hearing about my brother’s sex life, but it’s almost sweet. I lean against the bed, settling in.

The second time I almost told you was when you pressed me on the girlfriend title, after the football game. I’d never had the urge to be anyone’s boyfriend before. I wanted to give you that title so badly, but I knew I couldn’t. I was too selfish, too afraid to lose time with you, that I didn’t tell you why.

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