Page 50 of The Love Losers

“Really?” he asks, skeptical at first.

I take a second to consider his question, because I’m not a man who usually makes split-second calls. When I make decisions, I prefer to mean them. I give him a firm nod. “Yeah.”

“Oh good, because I have about a hundred ideas for how to improve this place, man,” he says, his face beaming with excitement as he stalks back toward us. “The whole building, I mean.” He waves a hand in front of him. “Imagine it now….roller rink.”

“We’ll stew on that piece of genius, bud,” Jake says, clapping the wood surface of the bar with one hand. “But you know what? We’ve got business to discuss.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” he says. “I’ll just move on over here.” He shifts five inches, or maybe six and turns his back to us.

Jake shrugs at me and then gives me a meaningful look. “Give it to me straight, buddy. Is Rosie trying to win our bet by making a play for you herself?”

Nina was like that—dishonest and conniving. A switch was flipped the moment she realized who I was and what I could do for her. But Rosie promised to be truthful with me, and even though I haven’t known her long, Ihaveknown her to be honest.

So I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished the thought. “No. It’s not like that.”

“So you’re into each other,” he says thoughtfully.

“Ihopeit’s like that,” I admit.

A grin stretches across his face, and he clasps my shoulder. “Well, Hallelujah. This might not be good for my job, but if it doesn’t work out, you’ve got a solid Plan B. I doubt Leigh’s going to run off and get engaged to someone else within the next week. Now, what can I do to help with Plan A?”

That’s when I realize two things:

One. Jake has become a real friend.

And two. Before this month, it had been a long time since I’d had anything that could approach true friendship.

“You can help me finish this damn bucket list,” I say, gesturing to the book covered in writing. “I’ve got one left.”

He laughs. “Bucket list, huh? I went to see this terrible movie about bucket lists with Lainey.”

“Did it end well for them?”

“They both died, but it took two and half hours to happen, so everybody lost.” He taps his fingers against the bar, his gaze far-off. “You could dye your hair purple so you’re a matching set?”

“You’re no help.”

“Don’t think I can be,” he tells me. “Because a Bucket List is supposed to be aboutyou.”

It’s the second time someone’s told me that within the past couple of days, and I realize why I’m at an impasse.

I’m so used to trying to predict what other people want. It’s a habit I formed because of my father. He tormented me, for as long as I can remember. He told me it was because he wanted to make me storm-resistant, but when I got old enough to know better, I realized that he took all of his frustrations and anger out on me for no better reason than that it felt good to him.

“I think I know what it needs to be,” I finally say, although truthfully this next list item blends with another.

I consider asking Jake for help, but the thought of another person witnessing my vulnerability, even someone I trust, makes me deeply uncomfortable.

“Well, good, that’s the easiest good deed I’ve ever done. I love it when things are easier than they should be.”

I smile at him and lift my glass of half-full beer. “I’ll drink to that.”

And I do.Wedo. We talk about the countdown website and the likeliest contenders. He tells me more about his brother, Ryan, who’s off God only knows where, on some kind of mission of self-expiation, and I tell him about Emma. How our father pitted us against each other when we were young and we’ve never really learned how to get beyond that.

We’re more alike than I ever could have imagined, and it feelsgoodto be open with him.

The sand has been shifting beneath my feet after years of being stagnant and solid, but it’s finally starting to feel like I’m shifting with it.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

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