Page 129 of The Charlie Method

I hear Ryder chuckle under his breath. We’re sitting together near the back of the bus while I pretend not to notice the dirty texts he’s sending his wife. And don’t get me started on how bizarre it is to say that. His wife. Who gets married in college?

“Hey,” I say, nudging his arm.

“Mmm?”

“Here’s a hypothetical for you.”

Forehead wrinkling, he clicks his screen off. “Okay.”

“You think Gigi is the love of your life, right?”

“No, I know she’s the love of my life.”

There’s no smugness there, just quiet certainty.

“All right, well, let’s suppose Gigi crushes your heart between her fingers and rips your soul from your body—”

“Wait, is she a demon?”

“No. She just hurts you. She destroys you and then leaves you.”

Ryder gives a dry laugh. “This scenario is grim, bro.”

“I know. But say that happened.” I poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue, shifting awkwardly in my seat. “Would you ever…you know…try again? With someone else?”

He responds with silence. Staring at me. It’s so unnerving that I have to look away, feigning deep interest in the seat ahead of me, where Will sits with Case. Shane is across the aisle next to Nick Lattimore, who’s been extra sulky tonight. Dude showed up earlier looking like someone kicked his puppy.

There’s a lot of chatter coming from the front rows, but for the most part, the bus is quiet.

Ryder’s gaze, which is usually shuttered, flickers with confusion, then concern. “Beck… is this a hypothetical, or are you asking me for advice here?”

“It’s…” I swallow, realizing I should’ve just kept my bloody mouth shut. “Just a hypothetical.”

He frowns. “Okay. Um. Yeah, I guess…no then. If Gigi left me, I don’t think I’d ever try again with someone else. She’s it for me.”

“Stop flaunting your perfect wife in everyone’s face,” grumbles Nick. The dark-haired winger twists around in his seat to scowl at Ryder. “Some people are barely holding on, man.”

I bite back a grin. Lattimore’s not the chatty type, so whatever’s eating at him tonight must be bad if he’s participating in a convo about women.

“Would you just tell us what happened already?” Shane growls. “You keep making these veiled little comments, and it’s starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of me. You clearly want to talk about it, asshole. So fucking talk about it. Asshole.”

Several snorts ring out.

Nick unleashes another scowl, this one aimed at me. “You want to know what happened? Ask Dunne. Because it’s all his fault.”

My jaw drops. “Me? What the hell did I do? Go away.”

“You’re the one who sent me that fan fiction,” he accuses.

I blink. “What?”

“Wait, what?” Will joins the conversation now, shifting around in his seat to eye me with suspicion. “What fan fiction?”

I’m armed and ready to deny, deny, deny, but Lattimore throws me under the bus again. “Beck sent Darcy a link for some dumbass story about Queen Elizabeth and Alexander the Great, and now I’m in the doghouse for it.”

“First of all—” I start.

“No,” Will interrupts, rolling his eyes. “First of all, were you on my laptop?”

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