Page 202 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. When do we start looking?”
“I already called a realtor. We have appointments this weekend.”
I laugh. “You don’t waste time.”
“I’ve wasted enough time in my life. I’m done waiting for things to happen.”
“I see that.” I steal a kiss because his lips are very close and extremely tempting. Though when are they not?
I think about how different things are now than they were a year ago.
How I went from trying to prove I belonged somewhere to actually belonging somewhere.
How I found not just love, but a home. A family. A future I never dared to imagine.
And how sometimes the best things in life come from the most unexpected places.
Sometimes they come from fake engagements and PR emergencies and falling for the one person you’re supposed to keep at arm’s length.
Love isn’t about being perfect for someone. It’s about being real with someone. And Hunter and I are as real as it gets.
Chapter48
Silas
Ihate this place.
The Secret History pretends to be classy with its dark wood and amber lighting, but it’s still just a bar full of loud people saying nothing important. I’m stuck at the edge of our usual table, nursing a soda water while my teammates laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. I should just go upstairs to my condo, but I haven’t been here for very long.
Don’t want to be accused of being hostile. We’re all flying to Vegas tomorrow so my brother can get hitched and tonight, everyone is celebrating. Beer flows, the music is loud, and my little group is getting fucked up.
I don’t want to be the voice of reason, telling the other players that they shouldn’t drink, shouldn’t eat bar food, should just stay home and rest so we can bring it in the next game. So I just keep to myself. My presence is required; my commentary isn’t.
Can I get away with working on a Sudoku on my phone? Maybe in a few minutes. Let everyone get a little more drunk first.
Hunter’s across from me with his arm around Juliet, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. She whispers something in his ear, and his scowl melts into something disgustingly soft. I don’t get it. How the hell did he trick someone like her into marriage?
She’s everything the Huxley brothers aren’t. Polished. Smart. Lovely. I wouldn’t apply any of those words to us three malcontents.
“You look thrilled to be here,” Jett says, dropping into the seat next to me.
I grunt.
“Come on, Si. When’s the last time you talked to someone who wasn’t blood related or wearing skates?”
I purse my lips. “I ordered a black coffee from the barista this morning. That counts.”
“You should have a drink. Go into the main bar, meet some girls. Take someone home.” Jett smirks. “Hell, take a few home. Enjoy your life. YOLO, or whatever.”
I snort. “That’s more your speed.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Jett stands up, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’m heading out there right now. Come meet me when you tire of running stats in your head, man.”
“Not going to happen.” I say it more to his back, because he switched focus the moment he saw the doorway between the private room and the main bar. Say what you will about my brother, but he is laser-focused on whatever his target is. He’ll likely find a girl, lock in on her, and have her ready to get out of here in twenty minutes flat.
I’ve seen it happen many, many times.
