Antony sputtered. “No. We used to be neighbors. We still are, technically, his parents and my mom.”
I crossed my arms and leaned back on the counter. “That still doesn’t explain why you want his number.”
“I just…Look. I don’t have nefarious reasons, okay? I just want it.”
I stared at him long and hard, but he didn’t look away. Fine.
I gave it to him.
He exhaled and nodded in thanks before going to the living room.
I was almost 100% sure Antony wouldn’t have nefarious reasons—especially because he was Scott’s best friend, and that wasn’t a small feat. If I knew anything about Scott, it was that his friends were more than precious to him, he didn’t just hang out with anyone.
As I went to the living room with the rest of things, I realized that I’d completely jumped over the obvious reason why he might want Henry’s number.
Does he want to fuck him?
Henry was the Heartbreaker for a reason. He liked to get around and play. But Antony was straight as far as I knew.
Or maybe he wasn’t. He’d never been with anyone that I’d seen.
I forgot about it as we dove into the pizza and played Jenga.
Conversation flowed as the food disappeared, and we somehow ended up reminiscing about the time I’d stopped a jock from punching Scott as he tried to help Eliot at the bar.
“I should’ve known right then,” Eliot said, leaning back on the sofa with his hands on his stomach, full of pizza. “There was no way you would have comethatquickly to save just anyone. Least of all your arch-enemy.”
“I’m surprised it wasn’t you trying to punch the jock, Dan. You’re usually more short-tempered than that,” Andy said.
Wait. Did they know each other?
Dan glared at him. “I would have, and was about to, but then Jonathan came in like there was fire in his veins and looked ready to send the jock six feet under.” He looked at his little brother. “Letting the cat out of the bag, too.”
This was probably how he found out that his best friend and his brother were a thing, judging by how Eliot squirmed. Jonathan looked unbothered, though, amused by Eliot’s reaction. He put his hand around the dark-haired spitfire and tugged him closer to his side, kissing his head.
Scott and I were sitting on some pillows on the floor by the coffee table, which made it a lot easier to eat and play the game, not to mention that our crossed legs were conveniently one against the other and my hand only left his thigh when absolutely necessary.
We spent most of the night like that. Exchanging casual touches, ignoring the way our friends were staring at us. Ignoring the way the cautious part of me was screaming that this was a bad idea. That there was no way this could end well.
Then Andy mentioned what happened at the frat party—how I’d left momentarily and surprisingly asked that he take Scott’s jacket so I could give it to him the next day, and my thoughts went to Mark.
My hand tightened on Scott’s knee, and he looked at me puzzled for a moment. I shook my head, trying to brush it off.
Scott wasn’t Mark. Whatever Scott and I had wasn’t meant to end catastrophically, the way my relationship with Mark had.
But what the fuck could have Henry meant, warning me about Mark?
Nothing good, that was for sure.
Chapter 20
Travis
Imanaged to push thoughts of Mark away from the forefront of my mind long enough for the night to end, with promises from Scott’s friends to come and watch Andy and me fight in two weeks.
Two weeks.
It almost didn’t seem real. What I’d been working on for so many years was finally within reach, and now fucking Mark was threatening to endanger that again?