Page 73 of Girl Going Nowhere

After pouring myself a cup of coffee, I turn to him and lean on the countertop. “You’re pissed still,” I theorize, sipping the bitter black liquid.

Finn finally lowers the paper. “You slept with her,” he answers. “I knew you were interested I just didn’t think you’d actually make the move.”

Did he really think that? Or did he not think Blake would let me? “Let me ask you something, man. Why did you tell Blake that you wanted a chance with her?”

He stares at me like I’m dumb. “Why else? Because I like her.”

If this were about anybody else, I’d accept that answer. I’m not going to let him out of the conversation that easy. “Butwhy? Your history with her doesn’t compare to the history you have with Dante. We both know you two were involved long before Blake moved in. So, why her? What makes her so special to you?”

He blinks. We’ve never discussed this before. For years, it’s been the elephant in the room. At first, it was because I thought they liked sharing women. But when the women stopped getting between them, it was apparent there was something else going on.

“If this is about labeling us—”

“No,” I cut him off. “This has nothing to do with slapping a label on anything. I don’t give a shit about that. What I care about is making sure everybody is happy. Would you be happy if Blake had been interested? Or would it have truly been enough for you? Because it feels like you would have been settling. That wouldn’t have been fair to either her or you.”

Again, he blinks slowly. Good. He’s thinking about it instead of spewing the first bullshit answer that comes to his head.

“What’s her favorite food?” I ask him.

His brows pinch. “I don’t know why you’re asking me that. She loves Panera. She gets their breakfast sandwiches all the time before work.”

Wrong.“She gets them once a week,” I correct. “Do you know why?”

Finn sighs. “What’s with the third degree? I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.”

I set my coffee mug down. “Panera runs a special every Thursday on their toasted breakfast sandwiches using old bread they need to get rid of. They’re cheaper because the products aren’t fresh. So, once a week, she goes in before work and buys herself a bacon, scrambled egg, and cheese sandwich on a half-stale everything bagel or ciabatta roll, and then buys whatever bread loaf is on sale to split between herself and Maia because she doesn’t like eating our groceries when she didn’t pay for them.”

My roommate only stares, his lips parting without saying a word.

“You didn’t know that because every Thursday morning you’re running late to work after spending the night with Dante and in a rush to get there in time,” I conclude, lifting a shoulder in nonchalance. “And no, I don’t give a fuck about who you share your bed with. Blake doesn’t either. The only two people who seem to be fighting it is you and Dante. I’d be happy for you if you chose to be together, and I’d be happy if you chose other people.”

Finn looks down at the newspaper sprawled across the table. “I don’t think he even knows what he wants out of this besides a distraction.”

I walk over and grip his shoulder. “All you have to do is ask.”

His muscles tense under my palm, so I squeeze once in reassurance.

“Now, what are you doing for dinner? Thought maybe we could do that Indian place over on Railroad that we all like. They’re the ones who do that chicken curry Dante likes, I think.”

Without hesitation, Finn says, “No, his favorite is the spicy lamb curry over on the east end. He says they have the better naan.”

He pauses when I chuckle.

All I say is, “Interesting.”

Under his breath, he murmurs, “Knowing what he likes to eat doesn’t mean anything.”

Grinning, I sip my coffee. I don’t even know my cousin’s favorite place to eat, much less what he orders, so it means more than he thinks it does. It means he pays attention.

Over the conversation, he looks back at the paper with furrowed brows. “What the hell?”

“What?” My eyes go to the red circle around a few of the rentals listed in the section of the paper he’s opened to. “Are you looking for something else?”

He slowly shakes his head. “No.”

Christ. “I really hope Dante isn’t scoping out new places for his mother again. He swore he wasn’t going to—”

“That’s not his handwriting.” He gestures toward the little stars and notes written on the opposite page in red ink.

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