Marc Jillson & The Gazebo (Love Inscribed 2)

I scooted into the kitchen for a refill of water, downed it, and startled Hunter with a wet kiss to his neck. He slapped the damp spot, grinning. Directly across from me, Quinn smirked at his slice of pizza. “Why call your thing a goodbye party and not a rally?”

“Mostly because more people might come.”

“Ha.” His gaze swung from Hunter to me. “I hope it . . . ends well.”

Hunter cleared his throat. “How’s teaching self-defense classes without my sis?”

“When is my darling Shannon getting back?”

“Next semester.” Hunter segued into updates about Shannon’s exchange, and Liam and I went for the last piece of Supreme.

“Oh,” he said.

“No, you take it,” I urged.

“You were angling for it.”

“There are other slices.”

“None as good as Supreme.”

“Amen to that.”

I withdrew my hand from the box, hoping he’d take the slice. “I see you also avoided the pizza with pineapple.”

“It makes the base soggy.”

“Exactly.”

“And it has a numbing aftertaste.”

“Right!”

Liam inclined his head and scooped up the last piece of Supreme. “This is strange.”

“The pizza?”

“Us four. Hanging out so often.”

Quinn seemed to have read between the lines, but I wasn’t sure Liam had. “I hope you can get used to it.”

“Used to it?” He paled, glancing at Hunter, who was scoffing at something Quinn said. “Are you two serious?”

I rubbed my nape. “Hey, do you want to walk to the store and pick up a bottle of wine with me?”

“Wine?”

“We may both need it after what I tell you.”

Liam eyed me warily and stood. “I’m listening.”

We left Hunter and Quinn and strode to a local liquor store. The place was quiet and every step sounded loud.

“White wine or red?”

“I don’t drink often.”

I nodded. “Oh, sure. We can grab something non-alcoholic, too . . .”

Liam rolled his shoulders. “I’ll take a sip of red?”

We arrowed for the red section.

I picked a wine off the shelf, then set it back. “I make you uncomfortable.”

“You used to. Now you make me wary . . . and curious.” Liam scanned bottles. “What do you want to tell me?”

“So, it’s about last year.”

“Last year?”

“With how I . . . with how cruelly I treated you.”

Liam shoved his glasses up. “Yes, I recall. What do you have to say about it?”

“I was an ass. An idiot of epic proportions. Every time I snickered, or joked, or made fun of you having no friends. Every pissed off moment I had when you landed the party page. Every—”

“That’s much less vague,” Liam said quickly, clicking the pen he always carried in his pocket. “You can stop the list now.”

I cleared my throat. “Right. So, the thing is, I’m really, really sorry.”

“Can you fast forward to the part about you and Hunter being serious?”

My stomach plummeted. I probably deserved that brush-off. “I know you think that he deserves better.”

Liam frowned.

I hurried on. “I know I agreed.”

“But?” he prompted.

“What we have is not meaningless. We are not just hanging out. We are getting to know one another. There are feelings. There are hearts on the line. Everything is at stake here.”

“You want to be his boyfriend?”

I held his gaze. “I want to be your friend.”

“Why?”

“Because you mean a lot to him, and there will be a lot of parties where we will fight out who gets the last slice of Supreme.” I smirked.

“I was too hasty in some of my comments. Hunter has been radiant since summer, and I don’t have trouble putting two and two together.”

I grinned, hard, and plucked the first red I touched off the shelf. “He makes me glow too.”

“Yes,” Liam said as we lined up to pay, “he’s turned you into a right sap.”

I stayed a right sap all weekend. The majority of it in Hunter’s arms.

At least until Sunday, when he kicked me out. I’d “had enough space,” and “needed to sort out my relationships.”

Damn him for being reasonable. For being right.

So Sunday afternoon, I traipsed home in borrowed underwear.

I breathed in the familiar scent of leather and carpet, and followed the distant sound of music to the living room. Perched on the couch, Jason watched TV.

He spotted me and grabbed the remote.

“Freeze right where you are,” I said. “Lay the remote down.”

He held it steady. “This doesn’t need to stay on.”

“Oh, it most absolutely does.”

Jason’s brow quirked suspiciously. “Men in tights have never been your thing.”

“Au contraire. Have you seen Batman? I’ve never had so much fun staring at spandex.”

Jason dropped the remote.

“Cool,” I said. “Where’s Uncle Ben?”

“You missed your shopping date with him yesterday. He headed out for groceries.”

Oh, shit. Had he waited all day for me to show up? He should’ve messaged me and scolded my ass. Was he giving me space to see if I’d turn up on my own?

A wave of regret funneled through me and I grabbed my phone and sent him an apology. Definitely better done in person, but I couldn’t wait that long.