Page 96 of Can't Always Get What You Want

“But he’s loyal,” I say. “If I tell him this is serious—and that it stays between us—he won’t say shit.”

Her shoulders relax a little. “Okay. Good. That’s...good.”

“You worried?”

She shrugs, petting Nugget with one hand, toying with the edge of her water bottle with the other. “I just keep thinking about Gio finding out. How weird that would be. How?—”

“Nova.”

She looks up.

“We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I know.”

She’s lying.She totally thinks this is wrong.

I don’t call her out on it. Don’t push.

I nod like I believe her and go back to slicing a block of cheddar cheese, to occupy my hands and keep my head clear, pushing the idea that she somehow disapproves of me—and continue fussing with our board of snacks.

I ignore the fact that I’m bothered by her being bothered.

Does that make sense?

“Cheese okay?” I ask, not looking at her.

“Love cheese,” she says softly. “Thanks.”

I hum in response, still not meeting her eyes.

Nugget stretches with a loud, dramatic groan at her feet, rolling over to nudge his nose against her ankle, wanting more pets.Needy fucker is better at this than I am…

I glance up and catch her watching me.

Like—reallywatching me.

She knows exactly why I’m being avoidant, but so is she, which makes us even.

“You went quiet,” she says.

“I’m not quiet.” I’m focused. Pick up the board and nod toward the back staircase that leads up to the second floor. “Want to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses?”

She does want, standing and going to the wine rack. Grabs a bottle of red, two glasses, and follows me to the stairs.

“Nugget, stay.”

He whines, rejected, wagging his tail toward Nova—his one saving grace.

“Sorry buddy. We want privacy.”

We move down the hallway, past several closed doors—Cash’s room, then Skaggs’s. My room is at the far end, the weird little ‘if the bed is rocking, don’t come knocking’ bumper sticker Skaggs bought at Buc-ee’s as a joke.

Nova sticks her head inside, cautiously nudging the door open. “You have the primary?”

“Sure do.” As the owner of the house, obviously the primary is mine.

“You make your bed!” she says, impressed.

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