Page 10 of Wanted You More

“Don’t feel bad,” he says knowingly, nudging his shoulder against my arm. “We both know Dad doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. He’s glad you’re here.”

I feel my bad arm weaken, my hand nearly dropping the plate of food. Setting it down on the table, I focus solely on the assortment of fruit that I scoop out with the serving spoon.

Noah’s voice lowers. “Is your arm okay?”

Always observant, just like his father. “It hurts,” I tell him nonchalantly. “I took some medicine before I came. It just needs to kick in.”

And if it doesn’t, I’ll be smoking until I can’t feel a single thing. And Wolfe won’t be able to make me feel bad about it this time.

Picking up a grape, I pop it into my mouth and ask, “Do you think a guy and girl can be friends? Likejustfriends?”

His brows pinch at the random question, but it doesn’t take him long to answer. “I have plenty of friends who are girls.”

Yeah, but I know at least two of them wish he’d see them as more than that. “Wolfe said guys can’t be friends with girls if they’re both single because it gets complicated.”

He reaches over me for the mustard bottle and opens the cap. “I guess it depends. I’d be lying if I said guys didn’t think about hooking up with the girls that they hit up at least once.”

My nose scrunches. “But you and I talk.”

His hand pauses, putting the mustard container back before chuckling. “That’s different, Austen.”

“Why?”

“Because you’reseventeen,” the twenty-two-year-old states with a roll of his eyes. “And I wasn’t aware you considered us friends.”

I guess I’ve never thought about what I’d label us. Noah is just…Noah to me. “I guess we’re not,” I murmur, itching my arm before lifting my plate and turning toward one of the tables they put out.

He follows me over, dropping into a spot across from me. “Hey, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Us being friends is just…it could be seen as a little weird to some people, given our age difference. The connection you have to my family…”

Because I want him to stop talking about this, I snort as if I don’t care. “You’re five years older than me, grandpa. But whatever you say.” I move hair away from my face that the breeze picks up. “I only brought this whole thing up because of my friend Nick anyway.”

“Nicholas Canastra?” He scoffs, taking a huge bite of his sub. With his mouth half full, he adds, “That dude is a loser. Why do you want to be friends with him?”

I stare down at my plate of food.

Because at least that loser admits we’re friends.

CHAPTER FIVE

Wiggling my jeansback on, I button them and pull the zipper up while ignoring the sleeping boy beside me. Monty drank too much like usual, so I know he won’t try stopping me from leaving like he normally does. Which is good because I’m not in the mood for an argument tonight that typically ends in him calling me colorful names.

Sliding my shoes on, I grab my bag and slip out the front door of the tiny studio apartment in the middle of downtown. It’s two in the morning, I’m bone-deep tired, and Marybelle isn’t picking up. She must have hooked up with the blue-eyed boy she met at the party earlier, which means I’m on my own.

The streetlights are bright enough to light up the sidewalks, making me comfortable enough to walk the six miles to my house. One of the unfortunate things about the silence is how much time I have to think about all of my regrets. Including going to Monty’s apartment when I swore I was done sleeping with him. The twenty-year-old is already a borderline alcoholic and doesn’t know how to properly compliment a woman, but hedoesknow how to make them feel good. And ever since the retirement party last week, I’ve been craving anything to make me feel something other than the pain ringing through my body and mind.

Monty took that away for a little while.

But every single walk of shame after our transgressions are spent wishing I’d been stronger about caving into my loneliness. Mom used to have a Jane Austen poster in her office that saidit isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.

I know she wouldn’t approve of what I’m doing these days. Losing my virginity at fourteen to some random boy at school was the start of the end of my constant distractions. Am I proud of myself for using them? Not really. It helps me escape, so I keep doing it.

Halfway to my house, my phone buzzes with my father’s name on the screen. Cursing, I stare until it stops ringing. Despite my aching feet, I walk faster. I hadn’t meant to be out this late, but I fell asleep. Then again, Dad usually isn’t up this late. He must have done one of his rare check-ins in our rooms and noticed mine vacant.

The phone starts ringing again.

“Shit,” I curse, stumbling when oncoming headlights blind me. Holding up my hand, I groan to myself before swiping to accept the call. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Don’t you dare ‘hi, Daddy’ me, Austen Magnolia Cole. Where the hell are you?”

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