Page 56 of Cherry Picking
Locke sighs, and I finally give my legs a break and drop down onto the bed.
“I’m not. But being his dirty secret was never your idea in the first place. If you had your way, you would have been dry humping his ass in the locker room for two years. Don’t pretend he hasn’t been holding you back.”
My throat burns, and I have to dig my fingers into my thigh to calm the anxious bouncing.
“This isn’t like the others. Riley isn’t playing games and stringing me along. He cares. He really fucking cares. There’sjust some hangups he’s got to deal with—and he is. We talked about it afteryoubrought him up to see me.”
“I just want the two of you to be happy.”
“He makes me happy, Locke. I love him.”
The line goes quiet, but I know he’s still there by the occasional sound of his breathing. I’d think he’s asleep if not for the jingling of keys and clicking of a lock down the line.
“I don’t mean to beat a dead horse,” he says. “You’re my best friend. You’ve had my back even when I was ready to throw down about it. Riley seems like a genuinely good guy who really fucking cares about you. I just know that sometimes, no matter how much you love someone … it isn’t always enough.”
As if the thought hasn’t crossed my mind enough times over the last two years.
“One day, you’re going to fall in love, and I’m going to have to be the protective one.”
“Call your boyfriend, Griffin.”
The line clicks, and I’m left with an ugly sense of apprehension that makes my stomach acid feel like sludge.
It takes ten minutes of feeding the guilt in my gut before I actually pull up Riley’s number and dial. It rings a handful of times—enough that it makes me think he might have fallen asleep with the ringer off—but then it picks up and Riley’s disgruntled‘hmph’blows through the speaker.
“Hey,” I say, wincing at the scratch in my voice.
“Something the matter, baby?” Even though his words are sleep heavy, Riley still sounds clear and attentive, and damn does it make my eyes water.
This is an emotional day; sue me.
“Nah. Just … wanted to hear your voice.”
He chuckles softly, and the bedsheets rustle through the phone, followed by a yawn. “Nervous?”
“A little.”
“You’re going to kick ass.”
“I probably won’t even touch the ice.”
It’s amazing how in-tune I am with every little sound. With his feet padding on the carpet of our apartment, the creak of the bathroom door, and even the echo of his morning piss.
“Tell me what you need.”
I crack a smile I wish he could see. “What? In a hurry to get me off the phone?”
He hums and audibly gulps down a glass of what I assume is water since I never heard the fridge open.
“In a hurry to calm your nerves.”
Riley lets out a content breath as he settles on the couch, grunting a bit as he props his injured leg up.
Should I be concerned that I know him well enough to discern his movements from the sounds he makes?
“I love you.”
His breathing hitches, and while it’s not the first or even one of the first handful of times I’ve said it, I try not to overdo it.
