Page 29 of Those Heartbreak Scars

“It’s so new. I’m not ready to make it a thing,” I say.

“The more the merrier.” Dove splashes tonic on top of the gin. “But I have an Uber coming for me in about an hour.”

“Where are you off to?” I ask.

“The label found this place in the countryside. Nathan wants me to spend the weekend there getting track three right. No distractions.”

“Nathan’s a twat.” When Indy raises both eyebrows, I explain, “He’s the worst of the worst.”

“Don’t I know it?” Dove touches the corner of her eye and winces. “But I do what I do for love. And because I am this close to having this album finished.”

“She doesn’t love Nathan,” I clarify for Indy.

“I most definitely do not.” She sips her drink. “The man could step in front of a city bus. And I really mean should. I’m in it for the music. That’s what’s important.”

Which is why I don’t get why she puts up with him.

“So back to yourhe,” Indy says while she raids a casserole dish of her mom’s macaroni—well, what’s left of it anyway—and Dove and I settle on the couch with our drinks and the fragrant tikka masala. “I’m going to need more details. Is he cute? Can he hold a conversation or is it all about the gymnastics? Have we got to the gymnastics? Have you met him, Dove?”

“Um. Okay.” I put my fork back in my bowl. “How am I supposed to eat with you prattling questions at me like this?”

“I have more,” Indy says while the microwave whirs behind her.

“He’s ridiculously peng,” Dove says.

Indy’s brow furrows. “I don’t know what that means.”

“He’s attractive, babes.” She laughs. “Ridiculously so.”

I glance at her, uncertain whichhewe’re talking about. She’s met both, though it’s been months since she saw Gray. Both men are attractive in their own way. Only one of them drives me batshit crazy.

“All blue eyes and snoggable mouth.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. Definitely talking about Gray, not Everett.

“Tell me more,” Indy says.

“I don’t know what to say.” I can’t talk to Indy about Gray. I just can’t. Even if she knows him best. Might even understand what the hell is going on with him and have advice about what I should do. It’s wrong and it’s weird. “I think we’re just fucking around.”

“So there’s definite gymnastics then.” Indy grins and settles on her sectional with her cowgirl boots still on. “Not just hickeys.”

“I don’t think he’s right for me. I think I’m going to end it.” I dig my fork through the chicken, no longer hungry or finding the smell appealing.

“How come?” Indy asks.

Because he’s your ex and every interaction we have is painful because of you. No, that’s not all it is. It’s unfair to blame her when I’m the one that was in love with her fiancé, and he’s the one that keeps telling me what we can’t be and then misleading me with his actions. “He’s hot and cold. It’s confusing. You know me. I always want things to be light and fun. But that’s not what this is.”

“Maybe because it’s real,” Indy says.

“If it was real he wouldn’t tell me we can’t be together and then fuck me up against the wall outside work while telling me I can’t date another man.” I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but it’s clear that I have when both of my friends gape at me. “Forget I said that.”

“I don’t think so,” Indy says.

Dove covers her mouth and then drops her hand to her lap. “Bollocks.”

“He sounds into you. Possessive might even be the word I would use to describe that,” Indy says. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to be in a relationship. Could that be his problem?”

Oh, he knows. He was in one for eight years.

“Or maybe he’s confused. Or scared,” she continues.

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