Page 93 of Bought and Broken

“Sure.”

“Oh, I should tell you Devon is going. That cool?”

Should I tell him about us? I want to. It would make Devon happy. But I don’t think Dane is ready for that yet. Not after what just happened with Summer.

“Fine with me. I guess that means you talked to her?”

“Yeah, a little while ago. She won’t tell me where she is, but she said she’s fine and she’ll be home in a few days.”

“That’s good. Have you talked to Summer?”

“I’m currently trying to get the balls to do it.”

“Just do it, Dane. Get it over with. The sooner the better.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I’ll call her now. But if it goes bad, we’re going out drinking.”

Yeah, not happening…

“Whatever you say.”

I end the call and go downstairs, praying Summer does whatever the hell Dane wants so he doesn’t call me back and beg me to go out with him. I’m not leaving this house tonight.

Devon is in the kitchen, pulling things out of the fridge when I reach it.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

“Nope. I want to do this all by myself,” she says proudly.

She drops a bunch of ingredients onto the counter. I grab a beer from the fridge.

“Is it okay if I get some work done, then? I need to let that hotel know I’m not interested in buying.”

“I’ll let you know when it’s done.” She pushes up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

I go to my office to get through some emails and let Marcus know that I’m not interested in the building, and since he put the notion in their heads, he can let them know I don’t want it. After that, I go through some more emails I didn’t get to today because my day was packed with meetings again. An hour later, Devon comes to the door to tell me dinner is ready.

I shut my laptop and follow her into the dining room. The table is set for two, our plates already laid out with a glass of wine.

“What did I do to deserve all this?” I ask, taking my seat.

“I’m just feeling grateful for you,” she says as she takes hers.

My stomach turns, but I push it away.

This is what I wanted.

“Well, I’m grateful for you too.” I grab her hand and kiss the back of it. “This looks delicious.”

“Hopefully it tastes as good.” She sounds unsure, but I bet it’ll be great. I haven’t had anything she’s cooked in years, but she used to make me food all the time when we were teenagers. Nothing was ever bad. I dig in, starving after having skipped lunch. The baked chicken is juicy, the rice perfectly cooked, and the creamed spinach is the perfect amount of sweet and savory.

“Have you thought more about what we’re doing?” she asks when we’re finished eating.

I reach for my wine, needing a moment to decide how I want to answer that. No, it’s not that I don’t know how to answer it, it’s that I don’t know if I should answer her truthfully. Because I have thought about it—a lot. And the answer is: I like where we are. The way things have been going. It’s simple. Easy.

But she can’t be trusted. And… this isn’t going to end the way she wants.

Should I ask her about what happened with us? Should I bring it up? Is it something I will ever be able to get over for us to move on? Or will it forever be there, like a permanent thorn in my side? I have no fucking idea, because I’m only confused about the whole thing. I have no idea how I got here, when it isn’t where I wanted to be. When the hell did it even happen?

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