Page 88 of Wild Card
Clyde nods. “Yeah.” He’s so casual about it. Like I’m an idiot for just now realizing it.
“How did you know?”
“She told me. We talk and don’t just make googly eyes at each other from across the room.”
I slouch back, already regretting bringing this up with him.
“Or make out on the back deck.”
“What the fuck, Clyde?” I throw a hand over my eyes, wanting to hide from this conversation. “Were you watching us?”
He giggles a raspy little giggle, getting way too much enjoyment out of this. “No, I got up to check what was going on because you were barking at her like a police dog who’d found a stash of drugs. Did you forget I live on the main floor? My sliding doors lead out onto this deck. If you guys kept your trysts to the upstairs balcony, I wouldn’t have to be subjected to?—”
I groan and tip my head back, pressing the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. “Please tell me you were not just hanging out watching us.”
He scoffs now. “I’m weird, not a creep.” I peek at him from the corner of my eye and his head tilts like he’s considering what to say next. “I won’t lie. I was pretty pleased with that development. You two are perfect for each other. Remind me of myself and Maya when we were younger.”
I keep my face impassive because as much as I love Clyde, I do not want to be like him. The world can only handle one Clyde.
“But.” He sighs the word heavily, shifting in his chair. “It seems as though in your mission to be Mr. Good-Guy Hero Man, you’ve plunked yourself squarely into the friend zone.”
“I have not. We’re just… We’re being mature. It’s complicated.”
Clyde scoffs. “It’s not complicated. You look at her like she hung the moon, and she’s the only woman in the world who finds your shitty attitude to be endearing.”
“I don’t have a shitty attitude.”
He turns in his chair to face me. “Kid, you are one big shitty attitude. When I close my eyes and try to envision you, I see a frown floating in the abyss.Exceptwhen you’re around Gwen. So stop pretending this has to do with that prissy little goofball you made when you were too stupid to use a condom.”
He reaches forward, one gnarled finger poking me in the bicep. “Because it’s aboutyou. You’re scared.”
My mind reels with his assessment. It seems insane that Clyde, one of the least rational people I know, should be the one to see this all so clearly, while I’m stumbling around in the fog.
“I’m not scared,” I retort, but it sounds weak even to my own ears.
Clyde responds by fitting his thumbs into his armpits and clucking at me like a chicken.
“Ugh,” I reply dramatically, pushing to stand. “Forget it.”
“I can’t! It’s burned into my mind! You’ve scarred me.”
Shaking my head, I move toward the door, wishing to escape this conversation as quickly as humanly possible.
“I’ve been playing matchmaker for months with you two. Don’t squander it! And don’t be a chump and forget to buy her a present!”
His words strike a chord as I enter the house.Months?Has he been playing the long game with this shit? Meddling and playing innocent?
I decide that’s too wild to fixate on. Instead, my brain fixates on a present for Gwen. Or rathersomethingfor Gwen. Because I understand Gwen well enough to know that simply buying her a present won’t cut it. She’s not hung up on material items or expensive gifts.
No, Gwen lives for new experiences. And I know which one I’m going to give her.
I wake up early, hoping to get a head start on Gwen. I may not be great at talking about my feelings, but I am great at showingthem.
With the kitchen to myself, I get to work prepping an over-the-top breakfast—one that says what I can’t. I don’t know specifically what she likes, so I make everything. I want her to have it all, everything and anything she likes. Hell, I even picked up some more lavender from the florist and added a couple of pots to the space. Partly because I know Gwen likes them, and partly because I do too.
They remind me of her.
The counter slowly fills with dishes, each one covered in foil to keep it warm.
