“Thanks, you too,” I say, trying to avoid eye contact.
We both walk to our cars, and in an attempt to make this less weird, I look over my shoulder, and in a fake perky voice, I say, “See you Tuesday!”
“Yeah, see ya.”
When I walk into the apartment, Jase and Mark are in the kitchen cooking dinner. They have music playing loudly, so they don’t hear me when I enter. I stand there and watch them move around the kitchen, flirting with each other. Jase approaches Mark while he’s standing over the stove and wraps his arms around his waist, kissing him on the neck. A part of me feels a little sad—envious. Maybe I’m just not meant to ever have that. When Mark turns around to look at Jase, he sees me.
“Hey!” he says excitedly. “We’re making Italian tonight. You hungry?”
“Yeah, a little,” I say, walking toward the bedroom. Why am I suddenly feeling sad? I wish I could get a hold of my emotions. I should be happy for Jase and Mark, not pitying myself. God, I am so selfish.
Closing the door behind me, I toss my purse on the floor. Walking across the room, I sit on the edge of the bed and take a moment to myself to just be sad. I need to get it out now before going back out there. I am sure the boys are sick and tired of my depressing moods.
I hear the creak of the door opening while I’m sniffing and quickly wiping away my tears. I really don’t want to put a damper on the evening, so I paste on a smile before looking up to see Mark walking in the room.
“Hey, what’s up?” I say in a fake cheerful tone, pretending that I wasn’t just crying.
He closes the door and starts walking over to me. “What’s wrong?”
I watch him as he moves across the room and sits down beside me. He places his hand on my knee and gives a light squeeze. “Nothing, just a weird day at work. That’s all.”
With a friendly smirk, he teasingly says, “You lie.”
Not wanting to pretend, I just confess what’s got me in my mood. “You’re right,” I softly chuckle. “Honestly, I love you and Jase, so don’t take this the wrong way, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I see how happy the two of you are, and I can’t help but wonder . . . why not me? I know it’s selfish, but . . .”
I don’t finish, when Mark cuts me off and says, “You are not selfish.” Shifting on the bed, he turns his body to face me. He looks extremely serious as he stares into my eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, but stop. You will have that, I promise. Look, I can’t even imagine how much everything sucks for you right now, but this does not define you.”
Tears rim my eyes when Mark rests his hands on my shoulders and repeats himself sternly. “This doesn’t define you.” Leaning in, he kisses my forehead, and the tears slip out. He takes his thumbs, and wipes them off my cheeks. “It doesn’t, okay?”
“Why does it feel that way? Maybe you believe that, but . . .” Looking down, I shake my head before looking back into his eyes. “None of this makes sense to me.”
Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, he says, “One day, this pain will make sense to you.” He pulls me in for a hug, and I try to believe his words, but it all sounds too good to be true.
I pull back and attempt to lighten the mood as I grin and ask, “So, what are you boys cooking for me?”
Mark smiles, but I clearly see the concern in his eyes. “Jase is the one who is doing everything. I’m not much of a cook. I’m trying to look helpful, but all I’m doing is stirring the pasta.” Laughing, he stands up, grabs my hand, and pulls me off the bed. “Come on, let’s devour the bruschetta while we admire Jase’s sexy ass moving around the kitchen.”
I smile, thankful for the humor, and say, “Absolutely.”
Walking into the kitchen, Jase strides over to me, pulls me in for a hug, and gives me a quick kiss. “Hey, sweetie. How was work?”
“Weird at first, but it wound up being a busy night, which was good,” I say as I walk over to the wine rack and select a bottle of Nero d’Avola. I uncork the bottle and pour three glasses of the floral Italian wine. As Mark and I settle at the bar, Jase picks up his glass and stands next to us. No toast is needed when the three of us clink our glasses before drinking.
Mark and I sit, chitchatting, while Jase slices up a baguette for the bruschetta. This is exactly what I needed tonight: a relaxing evening with my guys, good food, and wine.
“So, what are you cooking?” I ask Jase as he’s stirring a few pots on the stove.
“Lobster tortellini, vodka sauce, pan-fried asparagus, and roasted garlic bread,” he says as he moves around the kitchen.
“God, that sounds good!” I look over at Mark and ask, “Hey, didn’t your band have a show last night?”
“Yeah, we played at Blur. It was a great gig; the place was packed.”
“I’ve never been there before,” I say.