Page 15 of Forty

That’s Lou’s little nickname for me. ‘Cause Nevaeh is “heaven” backwards. Get it? He thinks he’s funny.

I give his flawlessly-styled naturally-blond hair one last tousle, not even the teeniest bit totally jealous, and then I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Doesn’t he ever talk about me? Not ever?”

Lou groans. “I told you. Forty doesn’t talk to me. I don’t really hang with him. I go to the clubhouse for Bucky. You know that.”

My brother has had an unrequited crush on Bucky Turvey since middle school. The first time I brought Lou around the clubhouse—he was maybe thirteen at the time—he was a goner. It’s pretty much hopeless, not because Bucky’s ever shown interest in the ladies, but because he’s a raging asshole.

“When are you going to get over that loser?”

“About the same time you get over Forty Nowicki, apparently.”

“He looked like I ran over him with a Mack truck when I came back inside.”

He was miserable when he told me to fuck off. That’s the only thing keeping me from moping right now. As soon as I saw him, a wave of memory rushed to the surface, toothachingly sweet and painful, so powerful I swear my feelings made a whomp, whomp whooshing in my ears.

I was on the edge of bursting into tears and telling him I love him when I saw that lipstick on his shirt. Good thing, or I would have completely humiliated myself.

Which reminds me. “You never told me Forty’s dating someone.”

“He dates a lot of someones.”

“So he’s a man whore?” My skin crawls. The Forty I knew wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Not exactly. He’s not into club pussy. He goes out with the put-out-on-the-third-date kind of women. So, you know, mathematically, he’s probably getting a third of the ass of the other brothers.”

“Mathematically?”

Lou shrugs. “I can do math.”

Lou sucked at school as much as I did. He doesn’t have attention issues like me, but he had a lot on his mind. Academics weren’t a priority. Making it to senior year without getting outed was kind of more important. Petty’s Mill High wasn’t exactly a drum circle when we were kids. More like a trial by fire.

Lou sighs and shoots me a side-eye. “You shouldn’t fuck with him if you’re not serious.”

“I’m serious.”

I am. Until I saw him in person, it was all kind of theoretical, me bungling along with a half-assed plan like usual. I saw a chick in a Steel Bones cut at the coffee shop and struck up a conversation. She turned out to be Dizzy’s old lady, Fay-Lee.

When I left town, Dizzy was still with his first wife, but Lou hadn’t bothered to keep me updated on that drama. Even though I hadn’t heard of Fay-Lee, she’d heard of me. She asked me if I really was a cheating whore who fucked around on Forty Nowicki while he was serving his country. I asked her if she’s really a nosy bitch who desperately needs a sandwich and a flea bath.

She cracked up. I paid for her cappuccino.

We hung out for hours. Around closing time, we didn’t feel like calling it a night, so she invited me to the clubhouse. I went.

Hilarity and a cat fight ensued. It felt so normal. Ill-advised and crazy fun until it went south. Monkey business as usual.

And then Forty showed up. I didn’t know how strong the need would be to run to him, to leap into his arms and climb up him until I could burrow my nose in the crook of his neck to see if he still smells like leather and motor oil and Lava soap. All the best smells in the world.

Real. Solid. Safe.

The only reason I didn’t throw myself at him is because he’s scary now. His expression is dead cold. He’s taller and wider than any man I currently know, and he obviously works out. A lot. As soon as I saw him, I couldn’t help sucking in my little paunch, even though I think it’s adorable, and I wouldn’t turn it into abs even if I could.

I was dressed like a kid, and Forty was all business, as if he’d come from church, one of the cool ones with a guitarist who plays acoustic Christian rock. He was wearing a white button-down shirt and crisp cargo pants, no rips, no sign of wear.

He’s got a flattop, he’s clean-shaven, and his boots were polished to a shine. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if he’s Steel Bones anymore.

He’s definitely a grown man. And the way he looked at me…he thinks I’m trash. Which is understandable. But it still makes me mad.

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