“Do what you want, brother,” Jameson says a little louder than necessary as Hennessey stalks around the front of the truck.
I try to turn my head to the side just enough to get a good view of what’s going on without being too obvious. If it were any of the other guys bitching at each other, I’d be shamelessly turned and facing the action. If the Chief could provide me with a microwave, I’d pop some popcorn for good measure. I’m all about the drama that doesn’t involve or affect me, but the second it gets too close to home, I’m out and running the other way.
I find myself mindlessly rubbing the wishbone at the base of my throat. Something tugs at me to look up, and when I do, I find Jameson’s come around to this side of the truck and is leaning against it. His arms are folded over his chest, and he’s watching me. Instinct tells me to lower my hand and keep this from him. He doesn’t deserve to know I’m thinking about him, missing him, wishing he could just talk to me. He doesn’t have the right to invade my private moments like this, and yet he does anyway. As much as I object to the audience, I can’t take my eyes off him. I don’t know how long we stay there like that—silent and still—but it’s long enough that I lose myself.
After I sent him the lame-o text lying my ass off and telling him it was okay that he canceled, we haven’t spoken. Not a single text or phone call. I’ve seen him at Port of Call twice since then, and both times he didn’t speak to me or Hennessey—who was with me each time—and opted for being a creeper, watching me from across the room. I almost confronted him about it the first time, but then when I didn’t and he did it the second time, it felt like my opportunity had passed and I should just deal with it. Hennessey noticed, I know he did, but he didn’t say or do anything about it save for his one comment that Jameson had fallen off the deep end, which he refused to elaborate on.
I don’t know how much more he expects me to put up with before I give up. A smarter woman would probably have recognized this bullshit for exactly what it is—bullshit—months ago and would have moved on.
“Hey, babe,” Hennessey says from behind me.
My heart nearly bursts out of my chest, and I work to calm myself down from the fright. Reluctantly, I turn away from Jameson and focus on the youngest Hayes brother. This is something new he’s been doing—calling me babe—and I’m really on the fence about it. On one hand, it seems super casual. But on the other, it feels like there’s something to it.
“Glad you’re back in that chair,” he says with a nod and leans against the half wall that keeps my desk safely tucked on the raised surface.
“It’s good to be back.” I wait for him to say something, anything, about why he came up here after storming away from Jameson, but he doesn’t offer anything up. From what Royal and Janet have said, they haven’t been getting along well since around Christmas. God, I missed everything during my last semester. I was always either in class, studying for class, or making arrangements for graduation.
“Gonna toss this out there for you, see what you think. You and me, dinner tonight?”
“You want to grab a pizza and finish off the first season of Orange Is the New Black?” Last time Hennessey and I had dinner, that’s what we did. It was chill and easy and such a relief to have something not be hard for once.
“Uh, we could, but what about eating at an actual restaurant?”
“Why would we do that?” I tilt my head to the side. He blows out a heavy breath and seems to mentally clear his thoughts.
“Christ,” he says like it’s a curse. “A date, babe. Let’s go out on a fucking date.”
I’m perfectly still for about ten seconds before my eyes widen and I realize how epically well I’m living up to the dumb blonde stereotype. Jeez, I’m not normally this slow. I knew, somewhere in my heart, that this is the direction this was moving. Hennessey has given me all the signs. He held my hand the last two times we’d hung out and were walking to get fro-yo at night. I laughed about it, but he’d told me that crime was up and he felt better if I held his hand. It sounded fishy then, but I was so caught up in Jameson I barely even noticed how hard Hennessey’s been working.
“I don’t know.” Words are failing me, and I can’t tell him what I really want to say. I want to tell him that he’s hot and funny and awesome in a hundred ways and while I love hanging out with him and I’ll be totally bummed to have to lose my Netflix buddy if he ditches me, that I’m totally obsessed with his brother in one of those steady and firm ways that’s unchangeable and there’s nothing here for him but friendship and maybe, if he gets me drunk, a little humping.