Page 57 of Tell Me When It's Over

His shoulders square off for a second before he relaxes them and dumps the ingredients for his shake into the blender. “Not mad, Len. I have a lot on my mind is all. Nothing you need to worry about.”

How could he think that? “Of course I’m going to worry. We’re friends. If you want to talk about it—”

“I don’t,” he snaps, grinding his teeth.

I blink at him, trying not to flinch over his tone. He has bad days like the rest of us, but he usually doesn’t take them out on me. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t hurt, but the concern I feel knowing something is bothering him weighs more than anything else. “Kyler…”

His sigh is heavy as he grips the edge of the counter until his fingers turn white. “Listen, it’s just some bullshit with my label. I really don’t want to talk about it right now.” Why don’t I believe that’s the only thing on his mind?

“Is Gordy doing anything to help?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles, turning the blender on and holding the top down. We let the machine fill the silence, and I wonder if he’s using it to stall for time. He doesn’t like talking about himself even now, after all these years. It makes me a little irritated, but I get it. I’d be a hypocrite not to.

I give him an out. As soon as the blender shuts off, I blurt the first thing that comes to mind without thinking. “Chase asked me out.” As if he doesn’t know what I mean, I add, “On a date.”

I’m met with more silence while he turns his body toward me with an eyebrow quirked. I don’t know what’s running through his mind while he stares at me. It’s unnerving. So, when he does speak up, I’m speechless. “I know.”

He…what?

“He told me he was going to,” he murmurs.

My heart bottoms out as I blink a few times while absorbing the concept. “I don’t understand. He told you what exactly? When did this happen?”

Kyler drops his head down between his shoulders, shaking it, but enlightens me. “The kid talked to me about a week ago, asking for my permission.”

I think my brows shoot up to my hairline, maybe further, but I don’t say anything. Aren’t guys supposed to ask men for permission to marry someone in their family? It’s so old fashioned that Mom would probably laugh and tell me to brush him off. None of her man friends would ever ask something like that.

It’s…well, it’s refreshing. Sort of. But also confusing. Why would Chase ask Kyler for his permission to take me out?

But before I can inquire that, Ky says, “Mia should be happy. She practically shoved the guy into it,” and any chance of a smile disappears and replaces itself with a heaviness in my chest.

“You don’t think he’d ask me out if she hadn’t gotten involved?” I whisper, hurt lacing my words. He’s sort of right, I guess. Mia and Garrick introduced us, otherwise I’m not sure I’d have ever met Chase. Still…

He curses, gripping the back of his neck as he swings his gaze toward me. “That’s not what I meant, Leighton.”

It doesn’t make me feel better. “I know Mia has a lot to do with it, but Chase is a good guy and seems excited about this.”

“I never said he wasn’t.” A pause, then a slight slit of his eyes as he scopes out my face where I’m leaning on the counter. “Are you excited about it?”

My lips part to answer, but then close when I realize I haven’t let myself think about it. Nervousness fills my conscious more than anything, but I am happy Chase asked. Who doesn’t like being wanted? “Yes, I think so,” I decide slowly, bobbing my head. “It’s probably time. Mom would be cheering if she were here.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and his eyes pin me until my face burns to the touch.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” I murmur, sinking down.

“Lenny.”

My shoulders drop. “Nothing, Ky. You don’t want to talk about the stuff with your label, and I don’t want to talk about this. Okay?”

“Not okay.”

I scowl. “Don’t be a hypocrite.”

He drops everything he’s doing to walk over to me. More like prowl, with sheer determination in every step. Leaning down so we’re eye level, brown eyes dark and all-knowing, he gives me that stupid look that always makes me spill my guts to him. It’s like he possesses pixie dust or something equally, and annoyingly magical. “Tell me.”

My jaw ticks and I look away only for a second before admitting, “I haven’t been asked out before.”

The kitchen grows eerily silent.

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