Page 72 of The Second Deal

I’mall too familiar with the feeling that weighs down my limbs; it’s kept me company obsessively for the past year and a half and has refused to let me shake it off.

AsIsearchAdrian’sfeatures, understanding starts to push it aside.

He’sjust been shitty because of me.AndI’vebeen shitty because of him.

Maybehe’s right: maybe we’re awful people because we’ve been delaying the inevitable between us.

I’vebeen denying it.

IsqueezeAdrian’shand, pulling him out of deep thought and back to the sidewalk with me. “Youknow whatIlike about you?”

Thecorner of his mouth pinches. “What?”

“Ilike that you’re relentless and bullheaded.Thatyou’re such a badass at what you do and you know it.Thatbeneath your snarky asshole exterior you’re actually a really sweet goofball and care so deeply about so much.”

Ipause, eyeballing the small white scar just below his hairline from an accident when we were on tour for our second album.Hegot too drunk when we were inCanadaand fell down some stairs.Asmall smile tugs at my lips, remembering the way he cackled his ass off at my terror watching blood pour down his face.

“Ilike that you still see the best in me even ifIthinkI’velost it.”

Adrian’shands cup my cheeks and stroke my hair away from my face.Heleans down, butIturn away.

Mybrows furrow andIbite down on my lip, avoiding his gaze. “I’mstill not sure about this.”

“Guessyou better figure it out quick.”

Ihuff, but don’t respond.Hisex basically blasted me on social media, nowBrandycaught us—he’s right.

Adrianstudies me silently for a moment before pulling me close to kiss my forehead.IntheTacoma, he reaches for my hand as soon as he maneuvers onto the busy road.

Thequiet in the truck is uncomfortable.WhenIfinally peek over at him, his features are pulled down as he glares at the road.

Thegash on my arm pulsates.Igroan softly and scowl.

Heglimpses at my arm where the gauze peeks out. “Youokay?”

Inod. “Juststings a little.”

Hegives my hand a small, reassuring squeeze, but allIcan see each timeIblink is the chicken foot and hoof on the dance floor.

“Sorrytonight was a bit of a bust,”Adrianpipes up. “I’llthink of something better for next time.”

Iscoff. “Whosaid there’s gonna be a next time?”

“Me,” he says with a wistful smile.

Rollingmy eyes,Itell him, “Youknow, plenty of first dates end disastrously.Surprisedthis one didn’t get any worse.”

“Tsk, really?Whyyou gotta be so fuckin’ mean.”

“Whydo you have to be such an asshole all the time?”

“SoI’vebeen an asshole all night, huh?”

Igrumble under my breath and stare out the passenger window, watching dimly-lit mesquite and huisache and live oaks pass by in a blur.Myfingers tap in an erratic pattern with no sense of rhythm, wondering why he’s still holding my hand.

“Dree?”

“Hm?”

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