“Including you?”
I don’t answer right away because he already knows from our talks in the garage. Seeing Gavin in the bar that night, realizing he’d been here the whole time and hadn’t bothered to so much as shoot me a text to let me know, it changed me. Not that I’m ruined or anything but it hurt and I know I’ve become more careful and withdrawn. Jag and my brother have both pointed it out and Robyn is pretty much constantly on my case about it. “Talk to him,” she says. “Tell him how you feel. Demand answers.”
Right. If only it were that easy. I talked to him for five minutes tonight and look how well that turned out.
“Especially me,” I say quietly into the darkened car interior without checking to see if Jag heard me.
In my head, it’s black-and-white.
Gavin and I had a fling. One I pushed him into. He got me out of his system and moved on with his life without any further thoughts of me. Sadly, I’m not quite that detached and I was hurt and, well . . . heartbroken. But I’m a big girl. I’m no stranger to pain. Just wish I understood the purpose behind it sometimes.
In my heart, though, it’s one big Technicolor mess.
I love him with everything that I am and there isn’t much I wouldn’t give to make him love me back. In that way. The reason I don’t push him for answers is that I know what he’d say. Or something close to it.
I care about you, Dixie. You’re like family to me.
Basically, “I love you, too, but not in that way.”
My Nana used to say for everything there was a season. My season with Gavin wasn’t a season at all but more like a sunny spring day that appears too early, promising sunshine and warmth, only to tease you before an avalanche falls on your head and buries you in the cold, unforgiving snow for the foreseeable future.
“So, um, who was that guy? The singer that showed up and sang and then monopolized all of your friend’s attention?”
It takes me a second to catch up. My friend meaning Cassidy.
“Afton Tate. He’s a nice guy. I met him in Austin, and Dallas toured with him for a bit. Robyn’s a big fan.”
Jag’s mouth twists into a sneer. “I gathered that when she nearly fell over. Nice of him to come all this way.”
“Mmhm.”
The silence feels heavy and suffocating. I’ve kept quiet about so much for so long and I feel like I’ve outgrown the need to be a weed in the breeze. I want to sway and move of my own accord. I want to grow. So here goes.
“Jag?”
“Yeah?”
“True or false, you have a thing for Cassidy?”
Wide hazel eyes regard me as if I am a foreign species in his vehicle. “Um . . . true. I guess. Sort of.”
“No. Man up and grow a pair. It’s simple. I’m super tired of half-ass answers and folks hemming and hawing around. You’re either interested in her or you aren’t. Which is it?”
“I am,” he answers, like a soldier on command.
“So. What are you going to do about it?”
He scratches the light scruff on his jaw. “Um, ask her out sometime?”
“Are you asking me?”
He chuckles low and the sound reverberates like the car engine. “No. I’m going to ask her out. I should, right?”
“Stop asking me and decide. For the love of God, man.” We laugh and I mimic ringing his neck. “Guys kill me. You’re all tough as nails and manly men but then when confronted with a woman, particularly one who is openly interested in you, suddenly you’re mute and confused.”
“She’s probably too good for me. I mean, Ivy League? And then that Tate guy makes a beeline to chat her up. If Robyn nearly fainting dead away was any indication, dude is a big damn deal. I can’t compete with that.”