Page 46 of Past the Broken Bridges

I lift a shoulder. “Curious, is all.”

Her eyes narrow, but I look at the menu and avoid theway her gaze pierces into the side of my face. “Seems like more than that.”

It’s finally our turn. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“You don’t have to—”

“You bought the tour tickets,” I say dismissively. “I’ll get lunch. But you have to at least try the crawfish. Deal?”

She doesn’t fight me on it. “Okay.”

Once I pass the cashier my card, we wait off to the side for our order. “Dawson is a good guy,” I tell her when we fall to silence. “I said the same thing to Dixie when it was obvious she had a thing for him.”

“She mentioned as much.” A pause. “And I know he is.”

“But he’s…” How do I put this nicely? “I love the guy, but Dawson is a little aloof. Your friend likes him. He likes you. I’m pretty sure he likes her too. I don’t think he sees what we both do though, when it comes to how invested she is. So where does that leaveyouin this?”

She blinks up at me. I don’t know what’s going through her mind, if she’s contemplating an honest answer or a bullshit one. I hope she’ll give it to me straight, but she doesn’t owe me that.

Toying with the ends of her hair, she glances at the people collecting their food and walking to the nearby picnic tables. “I’m not playing games with anybody, if that’s what you’re wondering. I want Dixie to be happy, and I want Dawson to be happy. That’s why I keep suggesting they hang out together.”

“And you?”

When she finally meets my eyes, there’s a distance to the blue tone, making them look more like dark denim than the crystal color they usually are. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

How could she think that? “That’s a sad way to live if you’re putting everybody else’s happiness before your own.”

Her tongue darts out again, wetting her bottom lip, and I track each little movement until it rests in the corner in thoughtful contemplation. “Happiness is subjective,” she replies, walking to the counter when they call our number. I follow her. “If my friends are happy, so am I. It doesn’t have to be a sacrifice.”

I help her, taking the big tray and gesturing for her to grab our drinks. “That still doesn’t answer my question.”

We walk over to an unoccupied table. She puts her lemonade down across from my sweet tea and sits. “Why are you pressing me about this? You couldn’t have cared less about me weeks ago. What changed?”

On the contrary. I was far too interested and had way too much going on. Between Dad and Dawson, giving any heed to what my dick wanted was only going to add more trouble into my life. “I care about my friends. Dawson is my oldest one. I’m looking out for him.”

He spent a hell of a lot more time with me over the years than he did at his house, and I appreciated it. Dad was on his best behavior when he was around. It was for after Dawson left that he saved the drinking and other shit. I owe Dawson a lot for things he’ll never know. Things I swore I’d take to the grave before telling a soul. It was my burden to bear, not his. Especially not when he had his own shit to get through.

Sawyer takes one of the shrimp, carefully studying it before peeling the tail off. “Life is already a game as it is, Banks. The last thing I plan on doing with mine is playing with people to make it more complicated than it needs to be. I’m here to be twenty-one and experience college andthe culture. I’m here to live and be happy. That includes making friends.”

She seems defensive. “You’re upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Her eyes stay on her food. “I told you before, I never dated. I never…” She stops herself, processing as she plays with the fries in her basket. “I’m not used to the attention, and I like it when I get it. Does that make me a bad person?”

If she’s a bad person, then we all are. “No, I don’t think so. We’re human. We like feeling wanted.”

“Dawson has always been nice to me,” she says quietly. “I guess I soaked that in a little more than I should is all.”

“He’s easy to get along with,” I reason.

All she does is nod, and I can tell she’s shutting down.

I pick up a crawfish. “A deal is a deal,” I tell her, wiggling it.

She looks from the offering up to me and then back down again before accepting it. “You’re something else, Banks.”

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