Page 44 of Hot Mess Express
I have no idea otherwise.
Maybe his dad is joining us all on his own. Maybe Cody’s mom. Maybe Duncan will show up in a Santa suit because why not? All I know is that one minute, I’m setting the table while overhearing Pete telling a story about a dickhead sergeant we both had to deal with after Cody’s time, and the next, the doorbell rings, and I’m asked by Trey to go answer it.
I open the door.
There stands Anthony dressed up in a short-sleeved blue plaid shirt buttoned to the chest and tucked into a pair of blue jeans with a brown belt.
And my jacket draped over his arms.
I’ve been thinking about him all day. Anthony. And that kiss. I still haven’t made up my mind about it, and now I’m staring at the guy on the front doorstep of Trey and Cody’s house.
I should be surprised he’s the guest, but somehow I’m not. I’m actually more surprised that the guy knows how to properly tuck in a damned shirt.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he says.
I can already smell the alcohol. “Huh?”
He extends my jacket at me like it’s diseased. “You left this.”
I don’t take it. “I meant to leave it for you.”
“Why?”
“What else would you have rested your head on?”
His eyes scrunch up. “Are you tellin’ me you carried me over to that pew like a princess and put me to bed?”
I shrug. “More like dragging a sack of potatoes, but sure.”
“And then you finished my work for me?”
“Just a few lights, old one out, new one in, took ten minutes.”
I’ve got him completely baffled now. “Why’d you do that?”
“No reason.”
“You expecting a thanks? I didn’t ask you to do any of that. Take your stupid jacket back.” He extends it again.
I can play this game with Anthony all day. We can avoid any mention of the kiss, if that’s how he wants to go about it. But that doesn’t mean I can’t talk civilly to him. “Like the patches on it?” I ask. “This jacket is actually my younger brother’s.”
He glances at it, likely not having taken the time to actually notice them.
His grip turns gentle.
It’s subtle, but I notice.
“So?”
“Means a lot to me,” I explain. “That jacket. We’ve passed it back and forth between us for years. My younger brother and I are survivors of our prick father. That jacket, it’s like magic armor to us. Whenever one of us wears it, nothing bad happens.” I smirk, thinking of the restaurant. “Well, usually. Did you drink already?”
“A little, so what?”
“More like three whole bottles. And before dinner?”
“Shove that judgment up your butt and take your jacket.”
I step back and nod inside. “Coatrack’s here next to the—”
