Page 58 of A Little Broken

“Are you going to see him again?”

“He’s a tourist, so…probably.”

She laughs. “And if he was a local?”

A breath of amusement escapes me, well aware we both know the answer. “I’d keep my distance.”

“Why?” The sheets rustle in the dark room as Rory rolls toward me in her bed and Hades grunts in protest. “Because the idea of running into one of your one-night stands after you’ve sent them packing is uncomfortable?”

A sardonic grin stretches across my face despite the acid in her words. She has no idea how right she is. I stare at the ceiling, still reeling from the fact that I literally just experienced this very thing earlier tonight. “You know me too well.”

“I do,” she agrees. “It’s also why I love you.”

“Because you know me too well?” I ask with a laugh.

“Because you let me in long enough to get to know you,” she clarifies. “Which I’ve learned over the years is kind of a miracle.”

She’s right. It is.

“I saw Pax at the bonfire,” she continues, like her words didn’t just knock me on my ass. Or at least, they would’ve if I wasn’t already lying down.

My body stiffens, and I dig my fingernails into my palms, fighting the urge to lose my shit because if Rory saw Pax, I can’t pretend my encounter with him was a figment of my imagination. “What?”

“Pax,” she repeats. “As in…the schmexy guitarist. I saw him tonight.”

I stick a pin in teasing her about her inability to say sexy and focus on the bomb she’s dropped on me and what it might mean in the big picture. “You saw Pax?”

“Yup. Didyousee him?” she asks.

Well, shit. I could lie. Tell her I didn’t see him. Or I could spill the tea on everything that transpired. She wouldn’t judge me. Not too harshly, anyway. But for some reason, neither option feels right. Like, if I lie, I’m a bad friend, but if I admit I saw him, I’ll blurt out everything that happened, and she’ll ask why I’m so adamant about keeping space between us when it’s clear he’s interested in more, and I’ll have to go quiet, and she’ll bereminded of how screwed up my brain is thanks to her older brother’s death, and?—

“Tate?” she prods.

“Uh, yeah.” I gulp. “Yeah, I saw him. Only for a minute, though.”

“What’d he say?”

“Just…hi,” I offer vaguely, well aware that keeping the truth from her iswayagainst the best friend agreement. “Did you…did you see him before or after I saw him?”

“Before, I think,” she decides. “He seemed kind of pissed when he saw you with Cowboy.”

Okay, definitely before. That’s good. Really good. I think?

“Got it.” I lick my lips, grateful she ran into him before the blowjob instead of after because that wouldn’t be embarrassing at all. “Did he, uh, did he tell you why he’s here?” I ask.

“Nope.”

“Any idea how long he’s staying?”

“No idea.”

“Are IndieCent Vows playing or something?” I prod.

“No idea,” she repeats.

With a huff, I roll toward her. “And what do you know?”

It’s too dark to see her, but it doesn’t soften the amusement in her voice as she answers, “I know he couldn’t take his eyes off you while I was talking with him.”

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